


Defying Reason

by magicofthepen



Series: What We Choose [1]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Gallifrey (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Audio 08.00: Enemy Lines, F/F, F/M, Getting Together, Multi, yes Romana's mental health isn't great, yes this does end happy, yes we are unpacking the emotional baggage of Enemy Lines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:47:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29128212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicofthepen/pseuds/magicofthepen
Summary: The final days of Romana's presidency, and what comes next. (Or: personal relationships don't get any easier, no matter what office you hold.)
Relationships: Leela/Narvin/Romana II, Leela/Romana II, Narvin & Romana II
Series: What We Choose [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2137368
Comments: 6
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The first three chapters take place before the events of Enemy Lines; the last four take place after. 
> 
> Title from Eric's Song by Vienna Teng.

“The look on Vorlum’s _face_.” Leela squeezes Romana’s arm, practically bounding along the corridor by her side.

“I _know_.” Romana fails to hide a terribly undignified grin. “This job has its bad days, but sometimes — ”

“Sometimes you get to humiliate a back-stabbing traitor in front of the entire High Council?” 

“Traitor may be a _slight_ exaggeration. It was really very petty arms-dealing he was involved with. And it was his own fault for leaving such a _ridiculous_ paper trail. Still — ” 

Selling minor Gallifreyan weapons on the black market isn’t _terrible_ in the grand scheme of Time Lord politics, but best to cut him off before he gets to the point of swapping battle TARDIS schematics for profit. There’s plenty of weaponry she doesn’t want near the other Temporal Powers — or worse, the Daleks. And Vorlum’s stark reputation for promoting xenophobic policies and generally harassing any aliens on Gallifrey who cross paths with him only made the decision easier.

Their brisk pace has carried them far from the High Council chambers. It’s been a long but fruitful day — Vorlum was just one item on a rather exhausting agenda, and Romana’s looking forward to some peace and quiet once she’s back in the presidential suite, even if she does have dozens of reports left to read. 

“He _really_ thought you were going to promote him when you summoned him to the meeting.” Leela sounds just as delightedly vindictive as Romana feels, which isn’t a surprise. She’s nearly come to blows with Vorlum more than once — actually, she _did_ come to blows with him once, and Romana suspects Narvin had a hand in spreading the embarrassing story that he fell down the Panopticon stairs before he could properly accuse Leela of anything. From what Romana heard, he _well_ deserved any bruises. 

Romana laughs, shaking her head. “As if I’d let a sniveling Under-Cardinal like Vorlum anywhere _near_ the seat Cardinal Neria vacated.” 

They’re nearly out of the Council chambers when Narvin abruptly steps out of a side corridor, cutting them off.

Romana stares. “You were still in the Council chambers when I left.”

Narvin raises his eyebrows. “It may come as a shock to realize that I know how to get around this building better than you do — ”

“Presidents are more conspicuous than CIA Coordinators,” Leela smiles. “We do not all get to _disappear_ into passages when we feel like it.”

“ — but that is all beside the point,” Narvin finishes. “I’ve received some news.”

“My favorite words,” Romana sighs, the lightness that’s bubbled up inside her evaporating. 

“You might recall from yesterday’s briefing that the CIA has been monitoring temporal disturbances on Terrafalax?”

She frowns. “I thought the CIA’s working theory was an equipment malfunction.”

“Turns out the equipment was fine.” He holds out a datapad. “I can now report that not only are those temporal disturbances real, but they’re the product of a quantum mining operation on that planet. A mining operation of _considerable_ size.”

“Terrafalax is quite close to several inhabited planets, isn’t it?” Romana takes the datapad, skimming the map in front of her. 

“Precisely.”

“ _Wonderful_. Do we have any idea who’s responsible?”

“Our initial data suggests the Monans — which is logical, considering Terrafalax is a protectorate of their host world. We suspect the Nekkistani have some trading connections to the operation as well, but that will be harder to prove.”

“And _do_ you have proof, when it comes to the Monans? And I mean _definitive_ proof, Narvin. _Suggestive_ data isn’t enough, not if we’re talking about accusing another Temporal Power of a treaty violation.”

“Accusations are not our only option, Madam President. Gallifrey can invoke a right to inspection.”

“It’ll take far too long to clear the processes needed to authorize an inspection. If they _are_ violating the treaty, the Monans would have plenty of time to disperse of any illegal activities.”

Leela crosses her arms. “Who, exactly, wrote that part of the treaty?”

Romana lifts her chin, as if that will hide the blush heating her cheeks. “It did need to pass Gallifrey’s High Council, to have any sort of effect.”

“Of course.” Leela leans back against the wall, rolling her eyes. “Of course the Time Lords would make a _slow authorization process_ part of the deal.”

“It wasn’t _my_ idea.”

“Regardless,” Narvin interjects. “There are circumstances that allow for fast-tracking the process. If there is an imminent threat to life, for instance, which could certainly be argued. And if, perhaps, the inspectors were already _on_ the planet, they would have a hard time getting rid of anything without our noticing.”

“Are you suggesting invading another planet first and asking for permission later?”

“It’s technically allowed.”

“It’s _technically_ going to anger our supposed ally.”

“We only have so many options, Romana.”

“Fine,” she says. “I’ll consider it. But I want _concrete evidence_ , Narvin, before we do anything.” 

“Understood, Madam President.” Narvin turns to leave, to disappear back down the hall and into some other passages probably. Before he can get anywhere, however, Leela catches his arm.

“You look exhausted.”

“I’m fine.”

“Whenever either of you say that, you are _lying_.”

“To be fair, you’ve lied about that yourself a fair few times,” Romana mutters. Not quite out of earshot of either of them, because Leela throws her a _look_ , and Narvin looks vaguely vindicated.

“Fine,” Leela sniffs. “I will look forward to beating you at Malvar’s Gambit tomorrow, since you are apparently too tired to even _notice_ you are tired. I believe you remember our wager.”

Narvin turns slightly red. “You won’t beat me.”

“Prove me wrong then,” she says, and her smirk is all challenge, all tease. 

Narvin clears his throat, takes a step back. “Well. I’ll send word as soon as I hear anything more about Terrafalax. Good night, Romana. Leela.”

“Good night,” Romana says, vaguely bewildered, and watches him walk away. Once Narvin disappears from sight, she turns to Leela. “What was that?”

Leela shrugs. “Narvin has been attempting to teach me _traditional Gallifreyan card games_ , and since they are boring, I have been improving them.” 

She blinks. “I didn’t know you and Narvin played card games together.”

“Narvin and I _cheat_ at card games together.” The smirk has returned, along with a quick glance down the hall. “He is not as good at hiding it as he thinks he is.”

“And what exactly are you betting?”

“You do not need to worry, it does not threaten Gallifrey’s security,” Leela says. Which doesn’t really answer the question, but Romana decides not to press it. There’s already something strange about the idea — she knows Leela bothers Narvin in his office sometimes (he’s grumbled about it more than once), and she certainly assumed there would be friendly conversation involved, but she hadn’t quite imagined these sorts of regular games and inside jokes. 

“How was your staff meeting this afternoon?” Romana says instead. “I meant to ask before the High Council meeting.”

“The usual.” Leela shrugs. “Tutor Davies is still arguing about the curriculum changes for quantum mechanics, which makes it very difficult for the rest of us to talk about anything else.”

“I’ve never known you to be stopped from speaking your mind.”

“Today, at least, there was not much I wanted to say. My class has been going well, and so are the security risk assessments. It is only annoying to have to spend so much time listening to Davies go on and _on_.” 

“Well, that’s good, I suppose. Not the _annoyance_ , but that things are going well for you at the Academy.” 

Leela had rejoined the tutoring staff after the Academy was rebuilt, and she took on the role of presidential liaison to the Academy when the non-Gallifreyan students slowly started coming back, after a few years of policy changes and negotiations and better measures in place to foster cultural exchange. The revival of Romana’s offworlder initiative was much helped by the absence of a scheming Inquisitor willing to bomb the school, but the success of the Academy these past several years still hasn’t been easy. Too many people still insist on blaming the non-Gallifreyan students for the civil war, not Gallifrey’s own political players. There have been fights, harassment — but as time passes, the students are learning that such violent xenophobia will not be tolerated. As time passes, it becomes less strange for the Time Lords to see people living on this world who are not from here. 

Connecting Gallifrey to the rest of the universe will always be a struggle, but Romana tries to believe it’s a struggle worth pursuing. Tries to believe it’s a struggle that will get easier with every subsequent generation. 

Leela carries that same wish for a kinder future, even if she often doubts that it’s possible. Romana doesn’t blame her for that doubt — Leela more than anyone understands how slow Gallifrey is to change, how its animosity towards outsiders lingers deep. She understands the nuances of Gallifrey’s immigration policies on a visceral, personal level, and that is an understanding that Romana can never have. Leela’s perspective is necessary, _essential_ , and Romana has been more than happy to work closely with her on the slogging fights of immigration and education reform. She has also been happy to give Leela the space to pursue her own work at the Academy, teaching classes on and off on a variety of topics, building staff support for Gallifrey’s alien visitors. It wasn’t long after they returned from the Axis that Leela confessed she missed the independence of leading Mancipia, and ever since it’s been a balancing act, trying to give Leela more professional autonomy while still relying on her as a presidential advisor and bodyguard. 

Leela is much happier these days than she was before the Axis and that, at least, is a victory.

“I am running a self-defense class tonight,” Leela says, jolting Romana out of her memories. “Very soon actually. I should be going.”

“Oh, of course. Don’t let me keep you.” She smiles wryly. “I am capable of walking back to my office by myself.”

“I will see you later.” Leela nudges her shoulder, grinning back, before slipping away. Romana watches her go, moving confidently through these outer Council chambers, and permits a fondness to well up between her hearts. She really doesn’t know how she survived for so long without Leela, on that Axis world.

It isn’t a far walk to the presidential palace, and before long Romana is settling into her office chair. She stares at her screen for a full microspan before calling up the first set of messages.

The work continues — reports, calls to her secretary to cancel or move meetings for the next day, reviews of the relevant interplanetary laws that were violated on Terrafalax. She hopes that they can contain that particular conflict to a lot of spirited arguing about mining regulations at a conference, and she certainly hopes, at the very least, that Gallifrey can see this particular facility shut down. Quantum mining uses time distortions to rearrange the landscape and allow whatever is being mined to be extracted. It works, in theory, but it’s highly unstable. More than one planet is riddled with time distortions because of mining that’s gotten out of hand. While it’s permitted under treaty law in remote reaches of space, she can’t let the Monans — or whoever is responsible — continue to pollute space and time with temporal fallout so close to so many heavily populated worlds. 

Why would they have even launched an operation like this? Surely, they must have known that if they tried this, they would get caught? Or were they just arrogant enough to think that Gallifrey and the other Temporal Powers would turn a blind eye to their dangerous practices, if it means lower prices on the intergalactic market?

The work continues.

The work should feel easier these days. Romana isn’t dealing with vengeful spirits from the dawn of Gallifrey or the looming threat of civil war coming to fruition around her. There is no virus raging rampant across Gallifrey, no Daleks escaping from the Matrix to attack her world. This term of her presidency has had its own challenges, and yes, some of them have been deadly, or nearly so, but the scale has been much quieter. She should be pleased.

There is no reasonable explanation for her exhaustion, a weariness that lingers in her bones even now. No reason for the presidency to feel ill-fitting. She chose this path so many years ago when she first returned to Gallifrey; she fought for this office when so many have tried to take it away from her. Yes, she tried to avoid the Presidency when she first returned from the Axis, but that could never have lasted. Romana has defined herself by her role and her title, and that isn’t going to change. There’s no reason for her to _want_ it to change.

Is there?

Afternoon blurs to evening blurs to night. She closes her eyes, the messages and maps on her screens swimming in front of her eyelids, and spares a moment to hope that Leela will come find her tonight. She wouldn’t ask, she rarely asks unless Leela is the one who looks like she needs the company. But Leela is the only person that Romana can let go of the trappings of her office with. The only person who will let her pretend for a heartsbeat that she isn’t controlling the fate of a planet. 

With Narvin’s old Terrafalax report still up on her screens, it’s too easy to remember that her friendship with him used to be like that. Well, _almost_ like that. Romana _would_ always be the President to him, always the leader of his world before anything else. But during the many months when he was her Chancellor, he was the only person around her that she could trust, the only one she could talk openly with, and not just about politics. She had to put on the act of _Supreme Leader_ around every other Regenerator, but when it was just the two of them, she could feel a little like herself again.

But in the years since their return, as her friendship with Leela has only grown closer, her friendship with Narvin — well.

She shoves the strange sense of loss aside. It’s perfectly reasonable that the camaraderie they built on the other universe, the two of them alone against the world, would cool to a pleasant professionalism once they came home. It’s perfectly reasonable for Narvin to withdraw back into the CIA — it wasn’t personal, it wasn’t like he had any reason to _avoid_ her, but they both had so much work to do in their respective jobs. It’s perfectly reasonable for things not to be the same these past several years — why _would_ they be? He isn’t her Chancellor anymore, and while they still meet regularly, of course, they don’t have reasons to cross paths as frequently in their daily lives. They certainly don’t have reasons to seek each other out outside of work, not anymore. 

Leela visits Narvin with some regularity, Romana knows, but Leela isn’t Narvin’s superior. She’s only his friend, it makes _sense_. It would be awkward for Romana to intrude on his life simply because she — well, _misses_ him might be too strong a word but — 

Romana closes the report. It’s clearly too late, if she can’t focus on what’s in front of her.

When she enters her living quarters, Leela’s already there, sprawled out on Romana’s sofa. She yawns, stretching her arms over her head. “Good. I was going to find you soon, if you had not come.” 

“I was just finishing up some work. And you could have let me _know_ you were here.”

Leela smirks. “Ah, but sneaking in is much more fun. I enjoy outwitting your Chancellery guards.” She’s already dressed in her nightclothes, the ones she keeps in Romana’s rooms for the evenings when she falls asleep in Romana’s bed. The habit started after their return from the Axis — a way to heal the loneliness of settling back into this old world, a way to stave off the nightmares of the darkness they faced on their long journey. They had been apart for so long on that other world; it felt natural to want to be even closer than usual, after they found their way back to each other. And by mutually unspoken agreement, they just never stopped. 

Romana perches on the arm of the sofa. “I don’t particularly enjoy hearing that my guards are so easily outwitted.”

“Not everyone is as clever as I am.”

“That’s true,” she agrees, reaching out to catch Leela’s hand and pull her upright. “The first time you snuck into my office, you just about gave me a hearts attack.” 

Leela’s eyes drift at the memory. “I have not thought about that day in a long time. You were so different then.”

“Really?”

“You certainly did not think I was _clever_.”

“I just — ” Romana sighs. “I wasn’t used to people barging in on me and trying to tell me what to do. I was — unsettled.”

Leela purses her lips. “And condescending.”

“Yes. Well. That, too.” She squeezes Leela’s hand. “I’m rather grateful for your patience with me.”

Leela runs her thumb along Romana’s knuckles, the corners of her mouth twitching into a smile. “You are very welcome.” Her other hand reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from Romana’s eyes. Romana sits very still on the sofa’s arm, the tickle of Leela’s fingertips lingering after she leans away. “And you are very tired.”

“Always,” Romana tries a smile.

“You should rest.”

“What do you think I’m here for?”

“Usually you do not sleep this early.”

She exhales. “It’s been a busy day.”

Romana steps away to pull on her nightdress in the privacy of her bedroom, the light fabric swirling and settling against her skin. When she peeks out into the main room, a question in the arch of her eyebrows, Leela answers instantly, stepping past Romana and curling up on her side of the bed.

Romana pauses. She didn’t used to think of the side closer to the door like that, as _Leela’s_ side. She doesn’t know when the change happened. She doesn’t know how she feels about it.

She crawls in after double checking that her alert system is fully programmed to wake her with any important messages. She’ll most likely be up in the middle of the night anyways; she doesn’t normally sleep for very long at once. Although it’s easier, sometimes, with Leela here. Easier to believe monsters or assassins won’t come for her in the middle of the night, easier to believe that falling asleep isn’t a mistake, isn’t letting down her guard.

When Romana pulls the blankets up to her chin, Leela rolls over so their arms brush together. It’s familiar, another habit, but every time, Romana is too aware of every point where Leela’s skin touches hers through the fabric of her nightdress. Every time, she can’t help but stare in the dark at the shadows of Leela’s hair falling out around her shoulders, the curve of her nose, the stretch of her neck. Every time, she hears Leela’s breath rush in and out, a too-loud puff of air from her lips.

“You are thinking too much.” Romana jumps as Leela’s fingers lift to the curve of her ear, tucking a loose strand of hair. “I saw how many times you checked your communicator. You will hear if you are needed.”

 _I’m always needed_ , she doesn’t say, because Leela would scoff again. She can never truly understand how the presidency is a second skin Romana, one Romana can never remove.

“I know,” Romana says instead and closes her eyes.

Leela wriggles closer, tucking her head against Romana’s shoulder. It would be easy for Romana to wrap her arm around Leela’s waist, lose herself in the warm sensation of Leela’s skin against hers, savor that reminder that she isn’t alone in the dark. Romana has given into that urge to hold Leela close so many times ( _too many times_ ), but every time she wonders if Leela can feel the too-fast beating of her hearts, the trembling in her breath. 

Every time a wave crashes over Romana, more guilt than anything else. This — this _nervousness_ , this overflowing _delight_ at Leela’s presence, at Leela holding her, it doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. It’s irrational and absurd, and she used to be so much better at ignoring it.

Their friendship is already too complicated, already on a knife-edge even at the best of times. She is the President of Gallifrey, no matter how easy it is to forget when it’s just the two of them, and she needs to get this particular hurricane of Leela-related feelings under control. For both their sakes.

Romana takes one breath, then another — quiet, deliberate. She tips her head against Leela’s and tries to enjoy the peace of this, the simple steadiness of her best friend beside her. Her shield against the dark.

Romana’s just starting to doze when her communicator chirps. She fumbles, trying to silence it, but Leela’s already stirring by the time she answers the call. 

“Narvin. I assume there’s news.”

“You asked for evidence. I’m sending it over now.” 

“Very well. I’ll call you from my office in a microspan.” She hangs up. 

Leela tightens her arm around Romana’s stomach. “Do you really have to — ”

“Yes. I do.” Romana extracts herself, leaves Leela half-asleep in her bed. 

It takes several microspans to review the data extract that Narvin sent her. Several more for her to identify the relevant members of the High Council and temporal inspectors tasked with enforcing treaties like this and schedule a meeting first thing tomorrow. Most of them are settling in for a quiet night at this point — Romana could call an emergency, summon them to her office, but she’s better off waiting. Better off dealing with a team that’s refreshed and ready to go. 

“This is still a risky move, Narvin,” she says into her comms system, once all the logistics are sorted. “The High Monan won’t be pleased.”

“The High Monan is very clearly the one in the wrong here.”

“I somehow doubt that will matter.”

“Perhaps. But with our data and the public shame of the inspection — even if we don’t manage to gain access to their facility, the Monans will be out of favor with the Temporal Powers who _aren’t_ flouting the rules. That won’t help their trading ambitions.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” Romana sighs. “And regardless, this is a problem for the morning. I better get some rest — it might be a long day on Terrafalax tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry?” She can hear the frown in his voice. “You’re not going, surely? The inspectors and ambassador can handle this.”

She blinks. Throughout all their evening discussions, it had never occurred to her that she _wouldn’t_ be involved in the landing team. Perhaps other Presidents of Gallifrey would never have dreamed of taking such a hands-on approach, but Romana has always prided herself on _not_ being like other Presidents. She isn’t afraid to step out into the universe, involve herself in the affairs of other people and places. Often, she relishes the chance to step away from Gallifrey for the day.

Often, it feels like a relief. An answer to a restlessness she didn’t even realize she was carrying.

None of that will hold up particularly well with Narvin, however. 

“I want to make it clear that Gallifrey takes such violations very seriously,” she says instead. 

“And you don’t think the Monans will see it as a power play?”

“I am personally overseeing the enforcement of a treaty that both Gallifrey and the Monan Host are signatories to. _Surely_ , they can’t have a problem with that.”

There’s a sigh, long and low, through her comms unit. “Be _careful_.”

“Of course. When am I not?”

She ends the call before Narvin can answer.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: physical injury.

The hall shakes, metal creaking and groaning, a dust of pulverized wall exploding into the air. Next to Romana, Gallifrey’s lead inspector swears under his breath. 

Romana stumbles as the remaining walls shudder, closing her eyes against the racing dust cloud. It passes in a whirlwind — one of the technicians is coughing and the roar of collapse is trembling all around them, and they have to _move_.

“Get back to the TARDISes,” she calls over the roar and stumbles down the crumbling corridor, hoping the rest of the delegation is at her heels. Hoping the landing strip they materialized on is still in one piece. Hoping the exit is still reachable from this particular branch of the building. 

Romana has no idea _what_ triggered this particular explosion. At best, it was faulty equipment or operator error — quantum mining facilities aren’t known for being especially _safe_ — and at worst, it was a deliberate attack on the president of Gallifrey and her staff. The timing is more than a little suspicious — they only just set foot in the facility ten microspans ago, after receiving authorization from a joint committee of Temporal Powers and overruling the Monan security forces who tried to ban their inspection. 

They hadn’t seen much of this place — enough to confirm Monan involvement and gather some early readings the analysts will pick over later, but Romana had hoped to find evidence to prove or disprove Nekkistani involvement. She’d rather not call out only one Temporal Power for a crime both are committing.

Although, there might be advantages to ignoring the trade connections between the Nekkistani and the Monans, as long as the facility is shut down. It might give the Nekkistani an incentive to cooperate, if they believe they can avoid being dragged into this fight. But that would still require Gallifrey having some definitive proof, in order to apply pressure, and now —

Well, now, Romana has more immediate concerns. 

Her hearts pound too fast in her chest, her breath quick and stabbing, and oh, she _really_ doesn’t like running. She skids to a halt as a chunk of ceiling crashes down a little ways in front of them, and the lead inspector nearly collides with her.

“Madam President! I apologize — ” 

“Oh, never mind, there isn’t time for that. We have to get _out_ of here!” She does spare a moment for a quick head count — yes, all the staff seems to have successfully made it to this corridor, although there’s a lot of gasping for breath. Time Lords aren’t particularly known for their athleticism. 

She closes her eyes, tries to outline the shape of the building in her mind, tries to control her own breathing. 

“This way.” _I hope_.

But there isn’t time for second guessing, and they take off again. The doors flash by and the ground shakes, and she stumbles again and again, elbows and knees banging up against unstable walls. Another chunk of ceiling drops in front of her, too close, _too close_ , and when it shatters shards blast out — and something hard and sharp strikes Romana in her ribs.

She cries out and trips forward, breath broken. The inspector manages to get over his deference in enough time to catch her arm.

“Madam President! Are you — “

 _I’ll be fine_ — she tries to say, but her lungs don’t seem to be producing words and something is burning, hot and cold, through her chest. She tries to offer an encouraging look, but it probably comes out as a grimace.

The inspection team — all ten of her staff — have halted, panting and terrified. Pain lances through her chest, and Romana hisses through her teeth. They have to keep _moving_ , don’t they understand? 

“You can — Madam President — here — ” The lead inspector, still flustered, offers his arm, and Romana leans against it and makes a gesture for the others to run on ahead. The exit to where their TARDISes are parked isn’t far. 

Several of the staff scurry forward, occasionally throwing reluctant glances back at their President. Romana hurries as quickly as she can, pointedly ignoring the stabbing sensation under one of her hearts. If Leela were here, there would be none of this hesitance, none of this floundering. But she’ll refrain from telling her that — Leela offered at least a half dozen times to accompany Romana on the inspection, but Romana had insisted that Leela didn’t need to abandon her other duties for the day, and besides, she had plenty of other staff on the mission.

Someone practically kicks a door open to the outside. The lead inspector’s TARDIS and her presidential TARDIS appear out of the dust, disguised as large barrels. Romana pokes her fingers deep into her pocket, wiggling around, and withdraws her key. 

She shakes away the inspector’s hand, but to her annoyance, he waves the rest of his staff into his TARDIS and insists on following her into the presidential one.

She doesn’t have the time to argue. She jams the key in the lock and twists and tolerates his hand on her arm, guiding her into the TARDIS. As soon as Romana can grip the console, she steps away, chin lifted. 

The door swings shut behind them, and Romana’s chest is still aching, but her breath isn’t burning as much, and she fumbles for the levers on the console — the coordinates to Gallifrey are pre-programmed, so it doesn’t take much.

The ship whirs, groans. They’re off. They’ve escaped.

* * *

Romana makes a valiant effort to argue for her right to leave her own TARDIS when she _damn well pleases_ , but the argument lacks strength given she’s still struggling to breathe normally. The presidential physician is the first to step on board the ship after it lands on Gallifrey, summoned by the lead inspector before he and the rest of the staff depart. She’ll speak to the inspection team properly as soon as she can — in the meantime, they’re probably facing a thorough debriefing at the CIA headquarters.

“Initial scans show only bruising, but I’ll need to see you in the medical station for more accurate results, I’m afraid.” This particular head physician was only appointed a few years back, sometime after Romana’s return to Gallifrey. She’s in her ninth regeneration and has a wry smile that implies she’s had to wrangle many dignitaries before. 

“Fine. Full comms access, and none of this unnecessary lying down.” 

“Madam President, you think all lying down is unnecessary.” 

“Nonsense.” She stands, trying and failing to swallow her wince. 

“I’ll send for a guard to escort you — ”

“There is no need.” The TARDIS door stands open, and Leela’s leans against it, eyes stormy. “I will make sure she gets there.”

“By all means.” The physician steps back as Leela crosses the console room to brace a hand gently against Romana’s back. “Madam President. Lady Leela.”

Once the physician leaves the console, Leela slides her arm properly around Romana. Romana’s eyes close, her awareness pooling in the throbbing in her chest. It isn’t _that_ bad — the sharpness fading to a dull ache, the breath knocked from her lungs returning — but it certainly isn’t pleasant.

Leela presses her forehead against the side of Romana’s head, her breath tickling Romana’s ear. “You should have let me come with you.”

“I thought we could at least save the _I told you so_ until later.” Her hand finds Leela’s other arm, holding tight to steady herself. “And besides, you were busy.”

“I was not _that_ busy. And that has never stopped you from asking me to do something.” 

“You’re needed at the Academy — ”

“And the Academy can spare me for a day, if it means keeping you _safe_.”

“I highly doubt you could have stopped an explosion, Leela.”

“No, but I could have stopped _you_ from getting hurt running through an unstable building.”

Romana was only injured because of poor timing, and because she happened to be the one at the front of the group. If Leela has been there with her, running ahead — the ceiling might have fallen on her completely. She could have been seriously injured, or — or worse.

Leela, unlike any of the Time Lords on Terrafalax today, doesn't have the option of regeneration. 

“It was just bad luck,” Romana insists. 

“Hmm.” Leela moves, herding Romana towards the door. She wants to protest at being _handled_ , but it’s much harder to object when it’s Leela’s hand pressed against her back. When she actually does feel steadier, with Leela at her side. 

Leela’s hands drop once they’re in public, and she hovers instead — guarding Romana’s back in case she stumbles or falls, but letting the President of Gallifrey draw up to her full height and deliver a few crisp commands to the traffic control officers in the TARDIS bay.

Halfway to the presidential medical station, one of Romana’s communicators buzzes, and Narvin’s voice crackles out.

“Romana — Madam President. We were monitoring the collapse, I only just heard that your TARDIS returned —“

“We’re safe,” she says, clipped and tired. “Shortly after we entered the facility, there was an explosion somewhere in our sector, at least as far as I could tell.”

“An attack?”

“Possibly. Could have been trying to cover something up in the facility, something our agents didn’t notice the first time. Could have been trying to get rid of the delegation. Or it could have been an honest malfunction, but I believe finding that out is your job, Narvin.” She sighs. “Mine is getting the official story from the Monans, once I’m back in my office.”

“One you are in the medical station, you mean,” Leela corrects.

“Leela!” Narvin’s voice is caught between anxious and pleased. “You’re back in the presidential palace?”

“Only a span ago. But Romana —“

“I’m _fine_.”

“You were hit by a collapsing ceiling, according to the inspector.”

“That sounds a _lot_ worse than it actually —“

“A _collapsing ceiling_? Romana, if you’re not in the medical station in the next twenty microspans, I’m personally sending a CIA agent to make sure you get there.”

“I’d like to see you try,” she mutters.

“Do not worry, Narvin,” Leela says, sharp. “I will look after her.”

Romana’s protests die on her tongue — _I don’t_ need _looking after_ — she’s too tired to pick every battle right now, and following up this explosion is a more pressing fight. 

The full medical inspection is tedious and uninteresting — bruised ribs, just as the preliminary scans showed, but they’ll heal quickly enough. She’s given medication for her pain, which admittedly is quite nice, but it’s still longer than she would like before she collapses into the small side room she can use as an office until they’ve finished monitoring her for _unexpected side effects_ , or some such nonsense.

Leela doesn’t leave her side until then. She fixes a cool stare on the physician throughout the whole process, hands curled into fists. 

She vanishes after Romana starts reviewing preliminary reports on the Terrafalax incident. There’s a bit of clamor among the other Temporal Powers, but the Monans have oddly remained quiet. 

Romana’s just closed a call with Gallifrey’s ambassador to the Monan Host, who also hasn't yet established contact with anyone other than low-level Monan leadership, when Leela returns, slouching against the door frame. 

“Narvin’s here,” she announces.

Romana rubs her eyes. “He could have just called.”

“He wanted to see himself how injured you were.”

“I’m _fine_.” 

Leela steps sideways into the room as Narvin hurries in, his fingers twitching around a datapad. “Madam President.” 

Leela leans over, whispering loudly against his ear with a grin. “Romana is cranky. Be gentle.”

Romana refrains from rolling her eyes. “ _Leela_ is telling exaggerated tales about my injury. Don’t listen to her.”

Narvin raises his eyebrows. “So you _weren’t_ hit by a collapsing ceiling?”

“Once again, it sounds _much worse_ than it is. We’ve all had a few bruised ribs in our lives, and I’ll be out of here as soon as the physician assistants stops fussing about possible allergic reactions to the painkillers.” Romana frowns. “Honestly, I think they’re just bored.”

“Keeping the physicians entertained is _not_ a good reason to get injured.” 

“It wasn’t like I got injured on _purpose_ , Narvin. As you may recall, there was a tiny bit of an _incident_ — and I trust you’re here because you have some _useful_ intelligence on said incident?”

Narvin drags a chair opposite her and sits. “Not much, I’m afraid. The system’s regional government is not returning Gallifrey’s calls, and I’m sure Terrafalax is on high alert at this point, which means getting agents on the ground won’t be easy.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed that every level of the Monan government has been suspiciously hard to reach. Which is _interesting_ , considering how they had no problem sending angry messages when when our TARDISes materialized outside the facility on Terrafalax.”

“So no word from the High Monan then.”

“ _Certainly_ not.”

“They are all _cowards_ ,” Leela hisses. Her eyes are narrowed, anger etched into every line of her face. Romana is startled at the intensity of it, how it radiates out into her clenched fists and bent knees, bracing. “The Monans tried to _kill_ you — ”

“Leela, we don’t know that.”

“What, do you think the explosion was meant to be _friendly_? You cannot tell me it was an _accident_ , not after you just arrived.”

“Even if it wasn’t an accident, we don’t know what it was meant as an attack. We don’t even know _who_ authorized it. It could have been a local supervisor trying to cover something up, or an anti-Gallifreyan faction. It’s _far_ too early to jump to conclusions.”

The hardness in Leela’s eyes doesn’t diminish, but her hands unclench. “What can we do? What can we do to make sure they will not get away with this?”

“Narvin, how soon can you get me _anything_ definitive on who was behind this?”

“I really can’t say, I’m afraid. And in the meantime — ”

“Yes, it’s occurred to me.”

Leela frowns. “What has occurred to you?”

Narvin turns towards her. “If the authorization to detonate came from lower down the chain of command, the High Monan might not know about it. In which case, from their point of view, a Gallifreyan delegation landed on a Monan protectorate, and shortly after, part of their facility blew up.”

“They would blame _Gallifrey_? Romana could have been killed!”

“It’s a weak argument, I’ll grant you that.” Romana laces her fingers. “But they might try it. The sooner we have _any_ concrete intelligence, the better.”

Narvin swallows. “I know.”

“In the meantime, I’ll release an official message — something condemning this explosion, saying that we’re investigating the possibilities of malfunction and attack.”

“Something that does not really say anything at all?” Leela crosses her arms.

“Exactly.” She stands on instinct as Narvin does and swallows a wince at the stiffness in her chest. 

He raises his eyebrows. “Are you _sure_ you’re alright?”

She waves a hand dismissively. “The doctor’s have run every test they can. We’ve all been through much worse.”

“Still. You should take Leela with you next time.”

“I really don’t need the _I told you_ so from both of you.”

Leela sidles up next to Narvin. “She does.”

Romana gives them both her sternest glance. “You both do work for me, you know.”

“You only say that when you are losing an argument,” Leela says, unfazed. “But we will stop _bothering_ you and leave you at the mercy of your bored doctors, if you wish. Come along, Narvin.”

Romana makes a scoffing noise in the back of her throat as Leela easily loops her arm around Narvin’s and tugs him towards the door. He opens and shuts his mouth, face a bit red, before nodding quickly at Romana and following Leela out.

The door shuts. 

She sinks back into her chair, glancing at her call sheet for the next span. Half of the names are people her office has already tried to reach once or twice today. She doesn’t know what exactly the Monans are waiting for, but once she learns what it is, her life isn’t likely to get any more peaceful. 

But at the very least, she would like to make the calls from the privacy of her main office, not this temporary one that she’s stuck in for no good reason other than the doctors like to fuss. They need a bit of reminding that _she_ is the President of Gallifrey, and she won’t be ordered around by some rather bored physicians.

Decided, Romana stands once again, deliberately avoiding a wince. The painkillers have done most of the work, and her own natural healing processes will resolve the problem relatively quickly, but for now there’s still a tightness in her chest. A dull line beneath her hearts. She steps out of the office in search of the nearest assistant — someone easily intimidated — and is surprised to hear the murmur of Leela and Narvin’s voices still in the infirmary. 

As Romana turns a dim corner, she spots them tucked into an alcove in an empty hallway, standing very close together. While she can’t quite see their faces from this angle, the tightness in Leela’s shoulders betrays the same anger that had simmered in the infirmary office. Romana can’t hear all their words, but she catches the low, surprisingly gentle tone of Narvin’s voice, the way his hand rests on Leela’s shoulder. The longer Romana watches, the more tension drains from Leela’s posture, until she rests her own hand on top of Narvin’s with a visible exhale. 

Romana’s about to quietly step away — Narvin doing his best to calm Leela isn’t really any of her business — when Leela reaches out to run her thumb along the curve of Narvin’s cheek before replacing her thumb with her lips. 

Romana stiffens. Narvin flushes and glances around quickly — and his eyes meet hers over Leela’s shoulder. 

She moves, the instinct to _run_ overriding the sudden coldness that’s reared up in her chest — a coldness that doesn’t have anything to do with bruised ribs. She disappears down the corridor she came from without a backwards glance, vanishing into the infirmary office without tracking down a single physician’s assistant. 

Her hands press against the desk, hard. Something is aching in her ribcage, and she needs to ignore it, _forget_ it. It isn’t important

Whatever is going on between Leela and Narvin is their business. They don’t owe her any information. It isn’t like there was anything — 

Romana takes a deep breath, ruthlessly squashes any errant thoughts. She’s needed to get her own feelings under control for a long time — perhaps this is the perfect excuse. The perfect reminder that she is the President of Gallifrey, and her friendships will always, _always_ be filtered through that lens. Her friendships with Leela and Narvin will always be defined by her rocky history with each of them, by the line that is meant to exist between the President and everyone around her. 

She’s been letting that line erode _far_ too much with Leela. And perhaps Leela hasn’t minded so far — she’s much more comfortable with casual physical affection and sharing her space than Romana is — but sooner or later, she _will_ mind. Romana has spent so much time trying to provide Leela more professional autonomy, but she hasn’t given enough thought to her friend’s personal autonomy. Comforting Romana at night, checking in on her during the day — is Leela just beholden to her in a different way these days?

Her head aches, the weight of the day’s — week’s — month’s events driving into her at once. A treaty on time torpedo distribution that crumbled after a border skirmish between Nekkistani ships and a protectorate of Unvoss left the negotiations on edge. The reauthorization bill for offworld student visas — it passed, but every time it’s up there’s always a faction of politicians who feel the need to show up at High Council meetings and preach about _Gallifrey for the Gallifreyans_. The mining violations on Terrafalax — the Monans’ anger at Gallifrey’s inspection, the walls crumbling around her, the now-silence from the Monan Host that’s feeling more ominous with each passing span.

She spends the next couple spans working through her calls, her reports, trying to squash the squeezing coldness in her chest. When Romana finally leaves the infirmary, it’s late at night, and there isn’t much news.

When she returns to the presidential suite, Leela is draped across her sofa, just as she was the night before. Romana stops in her entryway, her tongue heavy in her mouth.

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine.”

Leela squints. “I told you, whenever you say that, you are lying.”

“Then how exactly am I supposed to communicate that there’s nothing to worry about?”

“ _Romana_.” Leela stands, a bright intensity in her eyes as she crosses the room. She rests a hand on Romana’s elbow, and Romana tries not to stiffen. “I am sorry I was not there with you today.”

The image of a ceiling collapsing on Leela’s broken body bubbles to the surface of her mind once more. “I’m not.”

“What?”

“I’m not _sorry_ that you weren’t there. I’m perfectly _fine_ , and there was nothing you could have done.”

“You cannot know that there was _nothing_ — ”

“Yes, I do,” Romana snaps. “I didn’t _need_ you there.”

Something flashes in Leela’s eyes, but Romana’s too exhausted to decipher the particular emotion. She’s too aware that Leela’s hand is still on her arm. She’s too aware of _everything_ — the distracting proximity of her best friend, the guilt for letting Leela _be_ a distraction. The desire to pretend she never saw Leela with Narvin this afternoon — from her attitude tonight, Leela either never learned that Romana was there, or doesn’t wish to discuss it. Which means it would be so easy to carry on as they have been, monopolize Leela’s time as much as possible, pretend that Leela being here to look after her means something more. 

Maybe Romana _is_ that selfish. Maybe she’s watched Leela vanish from her life too many times not to try to hold her close for as long as she can. 

Leela takes a step back. “I see.”

Romana sighs. “I didn’t mean — ”

“And do you need me tonight? Or would you rather rest by yourself?” Leela doesn’t sound _angry_ , not really, but there’s something tremulous in her voice that Romana can’t quite parse. 

Romana clasps her hands in front of her, shoulders stiff. Of course she wants Leela to rest with her tonight, but Leela has always deserved better than Romana’s selfishness. 

“I’m fine on my own,” she says. “But I — I appreciate you checking.”

Leela nods, her expression blank, unreadable. “If you need anything — ”

“ — I know how to find you.”

After Leela leaves, Romana sits on the sofa for a long time, head in hands. The presidential suite is suddenly so much emptier, the air cold and still. And either the painkillers are wearing off, or there’s something else that’s squeezing her hearts, making it difficult to breathe. 

There’s nothing to be _upset_ about, not really. Her job is fine, her friendships are fine — better probably, that she’s learning to redraw her lines. Everything is _fine_.

Leela’s voice echoes: _Whenever you say that, you are lying._


	3. Chapter 3

Romana barely sees Leela for the next day.

There are easy excuses — Romana’s schedule has been an ongoing rotation from one meeting to the next. In between Narvin’s appearances in her office, she insists on speaking to the CIA engineers who had first flagged quantum disturbances on Terrafalax and is obligated to make an appearance for High Council committee discussions on several dull budgetary proposals, among other regular business. And Leela’s busy herself, teaching in the morning, traveling outside the city to visit friends in the afternoon. Leela may work for Romana, but they do lead separate lives. They are meant to lead separate lives. 

And yet, that separation does feel abrupt. Last night, Romana ignored the tightness in her chest when she stared at the dark ceiling of her rooms, struggling to sleep. She ignored the memory of Leela’s laughter, warm against her ear. She wasn’t wrong to send Leela away — Romana has depended on Leela too much since they returned to Gallifrey. Convinced herself that their friendship is fine as it is, that as long as Leela never realizes exactly what Romana feels for her, there is no reason anything should change. Convinced herself that there is no reason anything _would_ change, no reason that Romana wouldn’t remain the most important person in Leela’s life. 

It sounds so arrogant, when she puts it like that. 

And the worst part is: Romana can’t tell if Leela is angry with her. When they spoke briefly this morning, Leela was polite but distant, and Romana doesn’t know what that _means_. Perhaps she was too cold, when she insisted she didn’t need Leela, when she turned her away. Perhaps —

Narvin steps through the door into the presidential office without knocking, startling her out of her thoughts. “Ambassador Malkino is waiting outside the presidential palace, demanding an audience.”

“ _Really_.” Romana rubs her temples. “And why are you the one telling me this? I do have my own staff, Narvin.”

“And no one has gone over the Terrafalax data more than I have. If you _do_ meet with him, I’m sitting in.”

“Very well.”

“He’s also insisting on bringing a small gathering of his own staff — if you allow the meeting, you’d do well to have plenty of your own witnesses, in case he tries to misrepresent what was discussed later.”

“And, knowing Malkino, he will most certainly try to.” She leans back in her chair. “Let him stew for another span or two. The Monans were the ones who violated the treaty, and it _was_ a faction of them who endangered our delegation, as best we can tell. I’ll not be seen to be caving to the demands of their ambassador so easily. I’ll meet with him later this afternoon.”

“Of course.” Narvin inclines his head. “Madam President.”

He departs, and Romana turns to quickly reviewing the recent CIA data from as close to the explosion site as they could get, as well as the exact language of the mining treaty from the last temporal summit. She wants her word-for-word recall to be perfect — not because the Monans inherently hold any respect for the treaty, but because it is satisfying to outclass an ambassador. 

She’s moved on to her other business of the day — namely, her weekly Academy security report — when a notification comes that Leela has returned to the presidential offices. Romana’s fingers hover over the button that would send an immediate summons, her breath caught in her throat. Does she have an actual reason to call Leela in, or is she just missing her? 

Her fingers twitch. She presses the button.

Several microspans later, Leela appears. Her footsteps are quick, energetic, her hair still loose and tangled from the wind in the Outlands. 

“How was your trip?”

“Good.” Leela stops several paces away, hands clasped in front of her. “The latest shipment of medical supplies was popular. Less have died this year from diseases that could have been stopped, although many are still wary of the city’s intentions.”

“I’m glad to hear our aid is useful, and hesitance is to be expected. I don’t want to be overbearing, only — ” Romana bites her lip. “You were right, that I hadn’t done enough to help these people where I could.”

Leela tilts her head in acknowledgement. “Was there something else you needed?”

The careful distance between them isn’t sour. Leela’s eyes are gentle, warm. She isn’t angry, or at least she doesn’t _seem_ angry. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t uncomfortable, to have her standing so far away. 

“Yes, there is actually,” Romana decides. “I have a meeting with ambassador Malkino of the Monan Host about this Terrafalax situation in a span or so, and since he _insists_ on bringing the entire Monan delegation, I’ll need to have an entourage of my own. And as one of my advisors, it would be perfectly logical for you to be there.”

“You want me to help with the Monan negotiations?”

“I want you to sit in the room with me and Narvin and a host of ambassadorial staff while I negotiate with the Monans. I want to make it clear that Gallifrey takes this meeting, and the violation of the mining treaty, _and_ the threat to our inspection team’s lives, very seriously.”

Leela nods. “Of course.”

“You and the other Gallifreyan representatives will meet at my office in forty-five microspans. That should give you at least some time to breathe after your travels.”

Leela snorts. “I breathed in the fresh air while I was away from the city.”

“Yes.” Romana lifts her chin and squashes the emotion flickering between her ribs, the need to draw Leela to sit beside her, to ask her about the details of her travels and watch her face light up as she talks of her friends outside the Capital and the beauty of the wildlands. If Leela wanted to share her stories, surely she would have. Her report was quick, straightforward. 

She isn’t angry, but she isn’t particularly happy, either. Romana can’t quite pinpoint the reasons. 

“I’ll see you shortly then,” Romana says, and Leela nods briefly before leaving.

* * *

The excess staff are sitting in chairs flanking Romana’s desk when the Monan delegation arrives, except Narvin, who’s standing somewhere behind her right shoulder. Leela’s somewhere on her left, the only person in the room not dressed in the ornate robes of the Time Lords. Ambassador Malkino doesn’t react to the entourage, but his own staff fans out behind him.

Romana gestures to the chair in front of her desk. It’s one of the particular uncomfortable ones, and as they all sit, she notes the stiffness in Malkino’s spine.

“Madam President Romana. Thank you for finding the _time_ to speak with us.” His eyes narrow.

“I only wish it wasn’t necessary, Ambassador.”

“As do I. But the unprecedented Gallifreyan aggression — ”

Romana holds up a hand. “I’m sorry, I must have misheard. I’m certain you meant the violation of treaty agreements among the Temporal Powers and the senseless endangerment and possible _attack_ on a _legal_ inspection team. That is, after all, what we are here to discuss.”

“Then I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding, Madam President.” His voice scrapes, garish and smug. “The only violations here are Gallifrey’s.”

Romana affixes him with her coolest stare. “Ambassador, you know as well as I do that quantum mining on Terrafalax violates Article 3, section 7 of the Treaty on Temporal Commerce Operations, which specifically prohibits any sort of spatial-temporal distortion so near to heavily populated worlds. If there was any technological failure in your operation, the temporal shockwaves could level cities on Viseria.”

“Monan technology is not so crude as to put nearby planets at risk. That has always been Gallifrey’s favorite pastime.” His skin darkens a shade. “As it was when Gallifreyan time ships landed on Terrafalax and damaged Monan property.”

“ _Damaged Monan property_?” Romana’s hands clench the arm of her chair automatically, and she takes a deep breath, steadying herself. “Your people were the ones who blew up a sector of your own facility and endangered a foreign diplomatic team, including myself, in the process.”

“We would never be involved in such sabotage!”

“Not even to hide _crude_ technology?” Romana lifts a hand before Malkino can interject. “But I’m afraid your botched attempt at a cover up didn’t work, Ambassador. We are aware that your mining technology was dangerous regardless of what planet was nearby. Coordinator?”

At the flick of her fingers, Narvin steps out of the shadows and produces a small disk from his pocket. At a touch of his fingers, a colored image projects outward, rotating clearly so the ambassador can see all angles. 

“Although our inspectors were prevented from _fully_ accessing your facilities, we did manage to collect _some_ readings before the detonation.” His voice is polite and accusatory in equal measure, and Romana spares a moment to enjoy watching Narvin turn his deep held convictions and refusal to avoid an argument on someone else. “And, much to our surprise, we discovered that the quantum radiation levels in the sector of the facility where the explosion went off _far_ exceeded acceptable parameters. In fact, they’re liable to fracture workers between time zones with prolonged exposure.”

“Must be unfortunate, to have such a _high_ turnover rate in your workforce.” Romana stands, exchanges a quick glance with Narvin. Out of the corner of her eye, Leela rises, too. “Well, Ambassador. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

He’s on his feet to match them. “Gallifrey has never been known to tell the truth. You are spreading accusations solely to advance your own standing among the Temporal Powers.”

“The other Temporal Powers are welcome to review the data we have here.” Romana drums her fingers against the desk. “I’m sure they’ll find it _most_ concerning.”

“You think your bluster can intimidate us? You, and your CIA, and the human you hide behind?”

“Romana is _not_ hiding.” Leela steps forward, forcing Malkino to look her in the eye. “ _You_ are the coward, sending your people to be damaged by time while you can sit back and turn a _profit_. You are even more of a coward for attacking the President of another world, and you _will_ pay for the people you have hurt.”

Malkino snorts, although there’s a nervousness in the twitch of his ears. “Do you usually let your alien bodyguard do the negotiating? She has even less subtlety than your battleships landing on a Monan protectorate.”

Romana resists the urge to step around the desk, insert herself between Leela and the ambassador. Her position here is one of strength — not just the power of her office space, but Gallifrey’s own moral standing in this situation. They hold the evidence of Monan wrongdoing, and she can do with it what is necessary.

At her shoulder, Narvin takes a half step forward. 

“You are not here to negotiate,” Leela snaps. “You are here to deal in lies — ”

“And we are more than happy to let the truth come out,” Romana interrupts. “But our priority, as I’m sure you can imagine, is ensuring that this operation endangers no more lives and violates no more treaties. If our inspectors can verify a successful closure of the mine, we can avoid a lot of _messiness_.”

“Typical Gallifreyan dealing,” Malkino sneers. “Always trying to avoid the appearance of getting your hands dirty.”

“We are not afraid of getting our hands dirty,” Leela says, icy, and there’s a brisk slide of metal — the unsheathing of a knife from her belt. “ _I_ certainly am not afraid to make sure a weasel who cares nothing for the lives of others faces _consequences_ for his actions.”

“Leela — ”

Malkino does scramble back then, ducking behind the cloak of his ambassadorial deputy, who tightens their fists. A nervous murmuring breaks out among the other Time Lords in the room.

“I believe you are the ones with no intention of negotiating.” Malkino’s eyes bore into Romana’s, deep and furious. “Gallifrey’s interference on Terrafalax and the subsequent explosion was intended as an attack, and we will take it as such. And since Gallifrey’s only interest is in force, we are more than prepared to match you. Good day, Madam President.”

“Ambassador, that was _not_ what I — ” Romana does move then, but she’s barely made it around her desk by the time the doors hiss shut behind the Monan delegation, leaving her standing between an angry Leela, her knife still half-drawn, and a weary Narvin, the data projection still hovering above his hands. 

The stillness that falls over the room is sudden, enough to shock Romana in place. She had a _plan_ , she _knew_ how these negotiations were supposed to play out, and now the Monan ambassador is practically threatening war. 

She barely manages to dismiss the rest of the ambassadorial staff before whirling to face Leela, her hands trembling at her sides. “You couldn’t just _stand quietly_ , could you. You _had_ to go and make threats.”

“I was making it clear that Gallifrey does not intend to let this Monan and his people get away with what they’ve done! I said nothing that would not be followed through on.”

“I’m _sorry_ , but what authority did you have to make that call? Because it was _my_ understanding that the President of Gallifrey had jurisdiction over our foreign policy, not random members of her staff.”

“ _Random member of your staff_?”

Narvin clears his throat. “Romana, I don’t think — ”

“What? Do you think Leela is going to threaten me next? _Really_?”

“You are being ridiculous,” Leela hisses. “Malkino never would have backed away, he never had any interest in negotiating, no matter what treaties you threw at him — ”

“Of course he wasn’t going to back away, of course he didn’t care about the treaty violation.” Her chest is tight, burning. Every ache, every frustration she’s bottled up for the past week, month, years because the Presidency demands nothing less than absolute dedication is fizzing inside her. “But what _did_ matter, what had some _moderate_ chance of mattering, was the threat of public shame. The threat of exposing their dirty, dangerous technology, the threat of letting the other Temporal Powers know that they’re trying to corner the market by cheating and putting innocent lives at risk.”

“And you can still do that!”

“That was never the _point_ ,” she snaps. “The _point_ is to actually shut down the mining operation. The _point_ is to avoid a military conflict that could cost countless more lives. Which is best achieved if the Monans shut down the mines themselves. Which is best achieved if they believe we are bargaining in good faith — that we really _will_ hand over the evidence of the dirty temporal tech once they’ve resolved the problem.”

Leela stares, dangerously quiet. “You were going to _give back_ the evidence?”

“I was going to _shut them down_.”

“How is it _shutting them down_ if no one is held accountable? The workers they are hurting now, those who have already hurt — people who have had their _lives_ torn apart, where is their justice?”

Romana tries to unclench her fists. “Not everything in the universe is about justice, Leela. Sometimes, there’s a bigger picture.”

“I do not care for your _bigger picture_ if it means ignoring what matters! Years ago, when we were on the other Gallifrey, I spoke to so _many_ people who had lost friends, family, because they were forced to work in terrible conditions. I watched people die because of illnesses and injuries they sustained long ago in _your_ city. Their lives _matter_ , just as the people hurt by this Monan technology matter. Just as _your_ life matters. They could have killed you, Romana!”

“We can’t let our feelings about the past cloud what needs to be done for the future.”

“I am not letting my _feelings cloud_ — ”

“ _Yes_ , you are. You took it personally. You got invested. You let your own feelings interfere with my work, Gallifrey’s work, and now, thanks to you, we’ll be lucky if we aren’t at war with the Monan Host by the end of the day.” Romana exhales. “I should have known better than to invite you here.”

“And _I_ should have known better than to trust you to _feel_ anything towards the people whose lives you are willing to sweep away, if it means avoiding angering the Monans.” Her eyes dart past Romana. “And do _not_ think I have not noticed your part in all of this, Narvin. You are just the same, the both of you.”

“Leela, wait — ” But Narvin’s attempt to stop her is as unsuccessful as Romana’s call to the Monan ambassador. Leela is gone before he can catch her. 

Romana inhales, sharp and rough, but it doesn’t do anything to still the trembling of her fists, the wetness that has sprung unbidden to her eyes. 

Of course Leela thinks she doesn’t care. That’s always what it is, isn’t it — this job, this world demands that she set her own feelings aside, her own anger, her own comfort, her own fears and own desires — and then she’s _wrong_ somehow, for being unfeeling. As if emotion hasn’t always been her downfall.

“She didn’t mean it,” Narvin says, and it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself as much as Romana. She looks away — Narvin’s professional loyalty rests with her, but his personal loyalty is with Leela, she knows that. She doesn’t need to see it in his eyes.

“She always means it.” Romana turns to her desk, presses her palms against the surface. “I’ll need to speak with the High Monan immediately, see if we can salvage this.”

“I’ll speak with some of my counterparts, see what I can do.”

Romana nods. “Thank you.”

The door hisses shut once more, and she’s alone.

* * *

The High Monan refuses to return her calls. The day drags on, afternoon into evening into nightfall, and a fragile peace hangs over the planet. There hasn’t been any official declaration of hostilities, and Romana has lodged formal apologies with all the relevant dignitaries, but neither is there any sense of reconciliation. At the very least, trust in Gallifrey’s negotiations has been fractured, but perhaps the Monans will care enough for their own reputation to still want the data that Gallifrey is harboring.

Or perhaps they don’t care much what other people think about them at all. 

Narvin is practically working out of the presidential offices for the evening, she calls him in so often. She probably could delegate some of her calls, but after Leela’s behavior at the meeting, she needs someone around who she knows she can trust to handle the situation.

It’s late, Pazithi Gallifreya glowing out her window, when they first receive news of the Moros.

“It’s a Class A3 Monan time ship, crew of a few hundred, probably.” Narvin hands her a datapad. “They’ve lost all contact with it.”

“And this came through CIA channels?”

“You and the High Monan don’t seem to be on speaking terms right now.”

Romana purses her lips. “Was it meant to be a warning, do you think?”

“More of an accusation.” Narvin’s eyes are steely. “The malfunction — or whatever it was — occurred near Gallifrey’s region of space-time and the ship has since drifted closer to us. We’re the obvious culprits, it seems.”

“I would think we are the _too obvious_ culprits.” 

“We also have easier access to the ship, legally, now that it’s in our territory.”

“Surely they don’t want us anywhere near it. We allow a Monan rescue ship to dock — ”

“To be honest, Madam President, the Monans no longer have the coordinates of the Moros, nor do they trust that we will provide them with accurate information. Unfortunately, arranging for a Monan rescue operation will take time.”

“In which case, if the crew is, say, running out of oxygen, we could have a problem.”

“It’s worse.” Narvin leans over to tap the datapad, pulling up a rough ship schematic. “This is the best intelligence we have on the structure of this type of vessel. It’s core is surrounded by an event shield so it doesn’t collapse in on itself.” He taps again, pulling up a string of data alongside it. “We can’t get exact information without being on the ship, but when the Moros appeared near our outpost, the readings suggest that whatever malfunction occurred is draining the ship’s power. Which will drain the shields, too.”

“And if it collapses?”

“It could create a black hole.”

The weight of that proclamation settles in the room, the air thick with it. A black hole that close to Gallifrey would be catastrophic — Romana isn’t entirely certain the transduction barriers would be enough to save the planet.

“Can we do anything to stop it?”

“I don’t know.” His voice is quiet. “If our information is correct, it would take a tremendous energy boost to keep the shields from failing.”

Now Romana is the one to tap on the datapad, letting the ship schematics swim in front of her eyes. The latest in any number of crises she’s had to deal with under her presidency. The job that never ends, only demands more and more, only tightens its grip on her until some days the collar feels like it’s suffocating her.

This week has had several of those days.

What if this is the problem she can’t fix? What if this is the one that finally gets her — all her work, all her efforts to improve, protect, save this planet meaning nothing at all when a black hole arrives on Gallifrey’s doorstep, or a war between timefaring powers tears at the very fabric of the universe? What would be the point in anything she’s done, if this is how it ends?

It’s enough to ignite a kick of adrenaline, something burning through her chest. She can’t, she _can’t_ let this be the end for Gallifrey.

A _tremendous energy boost_. The spark of an idea — a reckless, ridiculous idea — lights cold inside of her. There is only one way to find out if it will work.

“How soon can a TARDIS land on the Moros?”

“Imminently, Madam President. I can pull together a strike team — ”

“No.” She hands the datapad back to Narvin, voice firm. “I’m going.”

“You can’t possibly go to a ship this unstable.”

“But other people are perfectly capable of risking their lives?” She strides across her office, towards the adjoining chamber that will allow her to change quickly into something more practical for running around a spaceship. 

“Other people are trained for these kinds of missions!”

“And _other people_ are not considered particularly important by the Monans.”

“Oh, thank you.”

She resists the urge to roll her eyes. “Please. The Monans are looking for an excuse to accuse Gallifrey of more aggression and meddling. They’re already pretending that _I_ was somehow responsible for the explosion on Terrafalax. I need to diffuse this situation before it gets any worse, and the only way I _can_ is to fix their ship myself.” 

“You don’t need to risk your life for a _gesture_.”

Romana fixes him with a glare. “I don’t intend for it to be merely a gesture. I’ll see you back in my office in five microspans — have the schematics ready. And if you have an expert on Monan engineering, by all means feel free to bring them.”

Narvin stiffens, and she can see him physically restrain himself from arguing further. He nods curtly and leaves without a word.

Romana dresses and calls in the presidential TARDIS into her office. Narvin is late by a few microspans, which is surprising considering his penchant for punctuality and protocol. But what’s more surprising is that when he returns, Leela is at his heels, her eyes cool and jaw stiff. 

Narvin must have asked her to come.

Leela doesn’t look pleased to be there, and the simmer of anger that Romana’s been suppressing since the meeting with the ambassador because she has a _job_ to do flares tight in her throat. 

“I asked for a Monan engineering expert,” Romana says, icy.

Narvin sighs. “And there’s one waiting outside to debrief you, but first — ”

“No _but firsts_. I thought you were the one who said this was _time sensitive_?”

“I’m also the one who said you shouldn’t go alone. And if you won’t take one of your agents — ”

Romana refrains from looking Leela in the eye. “No. Absolutely not.”

“You are putting yourself at risk for no reason.” Leela says, practically elbowing Narvin out of the way. “Your pride is not worth your life, and neither is mine.”

Romana’s fists clench. “This is not about my _pride_. In fact, _your_ pride was the one who got us into this mess. If the Monans weren’t already clamoring for war, this wouldn’t be a problem.”

“And we can deal with the Moros without being reckless,” Narvin interjects. “Romana, consider — ”

“I’ve considered. I’m done considering. And now we can move on to the actual mission debrief.”

Leela steps forward. “You _cannot_ do this alone.”

“I have to.” She eyes them both with her very best glare. It’s tempting to explain, fully, but she doesn’t risk it — it will only increase both of their protests if they know what she plans to do. And she doesn’t have the energy to keep arguing — not when she has to channel every last bit of her drive towards fixing this ship. “I won’t risk any other lives.”

“You are being foolish,” Leela snaps.

“I didn’t ask for your opinion. Narvin, get her out of here.”

“If you take one step towards me, Narvin — ”

“Alright.” Narvin holds up his hands, weary eyes darting between them both. “We’re not getting anywhere here. Leela, could you wait outside while I finish debriefing Romana?”

The two of them exchange a look, and Romana can practically see the unspoken argument pass between them before Leela exhales, sharp, and leaves the room once more. 

“Bringing Leela here was uncalled for, Narvin.” Romana crosses her arms. “But we have bigger things to worry about. Call in your expert.”

The next half a span passes just as quickly — a blur of technical data, anything and everything that might possibly be helpful. Romana nods, doesn’t speak much, and holds it all carefully in her mind. The slightest detail might be the difference between — well. Life and death are rather two sides of the same coin now, if her idea works. She dismisses the engineering expert and steps into the TARDIS with Narvin, to load his location data into the TARDIS databanks and double check the secure link between her TARDIS communications systems and his own private communications line. Given that Romana doesn’t know what she’ll find there, it wouldn’t do to have any other Temporal Powers, especially the Monans, listening in on internal Gallifrey communications before Narvin has access to all the information.

When Narvin leaves her TARDIS, she hesitates. Lingers too long on the final systems checks. 

If she’s right, if that spark of an idea _is_ a solution, she’ll never see him again, or Leela. Not _this_ her. 

It isn’t important. She’s cast off a life before; the process is simple, natural. Of course Leela will never see it that way, but it doesn’t matter. Leela is already angry with her, has already been distant from her even before the meeting. Leela was always going to drift away from Romana eventually. 

Romana grits her teeth and lowers the dematerialization lever.

* * *

(What she doesn’t see: the figure who slips onto the TARDIS when her and Narvin’s backs are turned. The figure who hides in an empty cupboard in the console room because she knows Romana’s TARDIS well, knows its empty spaces.)

(The figure who waits, staser at her hip, to prove to Romana that her life is worth saving.)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The entirety of Enemy Lines takes place before this chapter.

Leela stands in the sitting room of the Coordinator’s quarters — _her_ quarters, although thinking of them like that is taking some getting used to. If Romana’s honest with herself, taking over the Agency wasn’t the _most_ thought through decision of her career. 

In the chaotic followup to her resignation as president, Romana’s conversations with Narvin have ranged from strained but polite to openly hostile. The room discussion was an attempt at peacemaking — taking over the Coordinator’s office was important for securing authority within the agency, but it didn’t _really_ matter where she slept at night. But Narvin had grumbled dismissively, possibly at the appearance of charity, possibly because he didn’t like the discord between location and title, and relocated his small set of belongings — presumably to the Deputy Coordinator’s rooms, although it’s not like she’s checked. 

Romana slips out of the kitchen space, two cups of tea in her hands. She offers one to Leela, who curls her fingers around the hot mug and settles down on the sofa. Waiting.

Leela’s lips are pursed, her eyebrows drawn together. She isn’t happy to be here. 

“Thank you for coming here at such short notice. I only have a span or so before my next meeting with the President.” Romana doesn’t drink her own tea, only stares down into the dark liquid. “Leela, ah. We need to talk about your employment.”

Leela makes a noncommittal noise. “Do we?”

“As a presidential advisor and Academy liaison, you were entitled to accommodations in the presidential palace, a salary, and more importantly — ”

“An automatic visa renewal.”

“Well. Quite.” Under other circumstances, Romana wouldn’t think that even the more isolationist Cardinals would use being between jobs as an excuse to kick Leela offworld — Leela is quite a prominent figure on the planet these days, and it would likely backfire on their own reputations. But after the incident with the Monan ambassador, Leela isn’t exactly the High Council’s favorite person. Not that Romana would let them get away with it, but it’s certainly more likely that some Cardinals would go after Leela’s visa, if she no longer has the protection of a government office behind her. And that is a political fight that Romana would like to avoid. 

A silence stretches out between them, broken only by a gentle slurp as Leela sips her hot tea. Romana’s eyes dart everywhere but Leela’s face. 

Probably she should have considered the fallout Leela would face from her resignation more thoroughly. As recent as yesterday, a petty part of her insisted that _Leela_ never considered the fallout of threatening Malkino, so it couldn’t matter _that_ much, but such pettiness is — it _should_ be beneath her.

Something else threatens to bubble up in her mind — _another dream, cast in storm and paradox. Guilt, confusion, thick enough to drown in_. 

Not now.

“Livia will likely want to assert her authority as President, and I can’t blame her for that, but staff replacements are a usual part of the turnover process.” Romana bites her lip. “Your guest lecturer position at the Academy is technically separate from the presidential staff, but Livia _could_ choose to dismiss you, or order ones of the Cardinals to do so.” _Particularly after the incident with Malkino_ , she doesn’t say. “We should discuss your options, before it becomes a problem.”

“I have a feeling there are not many _options_ you want to discuss.”

She sighs. “It would be simplest, yes, if you — I have final control over the hiring and removal of CIA agents. As long as I am Coordinator, you position would be safe, and the job also comes with accommodation benefits — ”

“No.”

“Leela!”

“Romana, I said _no_.” She clangs down her own cup of tea next to Romana’s. “I do not wish to be part of the CIA, with all its lies and secret-keeping and rules and regulations — ”

“The presidential staff isn’t _that_ different, honestly. I’m sure CIA briefings are just as boring as High Council meetings, and the Cardinals have never been the most honest bunch either.”

“But I was not part of the _High Council_. I worked for _you_ , not for anyone else — ” 

Romana goes still, the myriad implications of Leela’s words threatening to spill out before her. _Anyone else_.

“I see,” she says. “If _that_ is your issue, well. CIA agents are not a monolith. Not everyone has the same title or responsibilities. We can make sure that I am your only direct supervisor.”

“Really?”

“As I said, I _do_ have discretion of appointment.”

Leela snorts. “And how does Narvin feel about your… _discretion_?”

 _Narvin_. A hundred complicated emotions rear up inside of her, and she squashes most of them with ruthless precision.

To say she’s avoiding all non-essential contact with him would be an understatement. He certainly doesn’t want to see _her_. 

They had — things had been politely professional between them, before Terrafalax and the Moros. They would argue about the agenda for the next temporal summit, argue about her new transparency measures, argue about the budget cuts to the CIA. (That one is definitely coming back to bite her). But it was all standard operating procedure, nothing personal. 

And then everything blew up with Leela, and _Braxiatel_ reappeared and Romana still doesn’t trust his careful answers about what he’s been doing, and the presidency, _everything_ , it’s all been tightening around her and she just wanted —

But, despite everything, she _is_ — _was_ supposed to be his friend. 

“We’re — ” Romana swallows. “It’s working.”

“I’m sure it is.” Leela raises her eyebrows.

“I doubt he’d care,” Romana says shortly, fingers tightening in the fabric of her robes. “About me supervising you, that is. I’m sure he’d rather _not_ be in your chain of command — ” 

Again, _implications_. 

Leela doesn’t react to that. 

“Anyways.” Romana clears her throat. “I can do my best to ensure that your new role isn’t terribly different from the kinds of work you’ve enjoyed before. You’ll have to work somewhat closely with the other agents, yes, but that could be an invigorating chance of pace? You’ve spent plenty of time with Ace already.”

Leela does give a small smile at that, and Romana leans forward, encouraged. “And if you want a break from Gallifrey, there are always off world field missions that need agents.” 

Leela purses her lips. “I will...consider it.”

Not exactly what Romana was looking for.

She sighs. “Consider quickly, Leela. Or this could blow up into a whole political mess, and that’s the last thing we need right now.” 

Any trace of Leela’s smile vanishes. “It is not _my_ problem if _your_ Time Lords care so little about my life that they would cast me off the planet as soon as I am no longer deemed _useful_ — ”

“They’re not _my_ Time Lords.”

“They are your allies, the people you work with. These people would think nothing of abandoning me — ”

“And I won’t let them, Leela, but there’s a simple enough way to resolve this — ”

“Won’t you?”

Romana freezes, eyes wide. “I’m _sorry_?”

“Last night.” Leela’s hands curl into fists in her lap. “Last night I dreamt that — ”

“Leela — ” Romana interrupts, _tries_ to interrupt, tries to cut off the bubbling, twisting thing threatening to rear its head inside her ( _last night’s dream — every night they’re different — the two of them were on an unreal world, caught between timelines, one loss and betrayal on top of another —_ ). 

“Does it mean anything?”

“Does….” 

“I see it in your eyes, Romana,” Leela snaps. “You _know_ what I was about to say. Does it mean anything, that I dreamt you abandoned me after the Moros?”

 _Abandoned_. The word drops her stomach, cold, heavy.

“Leela, I _didn’t_. I _wouldn’t_.”

“What if Braxiatel had not come?” she retorts. “What if you had regenerated? Would you have come back for me?”

“Of _course_ I would. We’ve already _had_ this conversation.” 

“You are lying. And _that_ conversation was _before_ I dreamed that you never returned.”

“I’m not — ” Romana presses her forehead into her hands for a moment, before resurfacing, voice quiet. “I don’t know what _might_ have happened. The future is full of countless possibilities — must we really waste time talking about the ones that _didn’t_ happen?”

“It is _not_ wasting if — ” Leela’s voice breaks. “Romana, I am asking you to be honest with me.”

“I _am_.” 

“Let me _finish_.” Leela closes her eyes. “Even if it was a moment that did not happen, I want to know, I — I _need_ to know — _why_ would you have done it?”

Romana stares at her for a heartsbeat or an age, she can’t possibly say. What _was_ she thinking, moments away from being shot? 

The echoes of the dream bubble over at last — a blurry recollection of a much older Leela, that same charge — _abandonment_ — escaping her lips. 

“As I recall, that’s what I dreamt another you asked another me.” Her mouth is dry. “In a different time.”

“The other you did not answer. Not really.”

“Because I don’t _have_ an answer, Leela.” Her eyes dart away. 

“You do have an idea. Romana, I can see there is something you are not telling me.”

Is there? Is there really? Is speculation worth anything — isn’t it just her rewriting the narrative, casting herself as sympathetic, or resigning herself to the role of the villain? 

The exhausting months and years of work, the solitary weight of the presidential office she never wanted back, the fight with Leela, the never-ending cycle of things _breaking_ — except that’s all self-pitying, all _excuses_. 

What is she supposed to say? _If I wasn’t going to die on that ship then maybe, at least, I could come back as someone less_ fragile? 

She can’t tell Leela the full truth, she doesn’t _have_ the full truth, but she is so very tired. Perhaps it’s easier to tell the little she can guess, even if it isn’t what either of them want to hear.

“Regeneration is a complex process,” Romana says finally. “A Time Lord has some degree of control, of course. But that doesn’t mean you always keep everything that you started with. Things can be...suppressed. Forgotten.” 

Her eyes drop to her hands. “The last time I regenerated, I didn’t even remember why. I buried the Imperiatrix Imprimatur so deep it would likely never resurface. Who’s to say…” She wets her lips, her voice low and nervous, the words tumbling out — an answer, a guess, a confession. “Who’s to say that if I had regenerated, I wouldn’t have buried other things, even accidentally.” 

“Other things?”

“Emotions, memories — ”

“Our friendship, you mean.”

“I wouldn’t put it like _that_ — ”

“Then how would you put it?” Leela says, not bothering to hide the rawness in her voice. “What _would_ you call choosing to care so little that you would never come back for me?”

“I didn’t say it was a conscious choice. I don’t even _know_ if that’s what happened — these are just _dreams_ , this is pure speculation.” She twists her hands in her lap. 

“But you were there.” Leela’s staring, eyes wet. “You were _there_ and you were about to die, so even if it was not something you chose on purpose — there was some part of you, deep down, that — that _hated_ me enough to wipe away _any_ affection — ”

“ _No_.” 

She’s vehement, her hand suddenly on Leela’s wrist. 

“I can’t stop you from drawing whatever conclusions you wish,” Romana says, and she’s blinking hard, too. “But Leela, no matter what you did, no matter how angry I was, that would never be enough to — I could _never_ hate you.”

“Then _why_? And do not tell me you have no idea, I can see it in your eyes. You know why you would have buried our friendship when you regenerated. And if it was not out of resentment — ”

“I don’t know anything, Leela, not really.” Her fingers are squeezing Leela’s wrist, too tight. “Even if I did live through that timeline, I probably wouldn’t know. It would have happened so fast, and — ”

“ _Romana_.”

“It really isn’t that important.”

“Of course it is important!” she cries out, yanking her arm away. “When you regenerate one day, if you are going to erase any affection you hold towards me, if you will become a stranger to me — a long time ago you promised that regeneration would not change anything between us, but clearly that is not the case!”

Leela’s indignation — it’s a gut punch. And before Romana can stop herself, she barks out a laugh, low and bitter and _honest_. 

“Oh, Leela. Regeneration would _always_ have changed things between us. That is — that is the _point_.”

“Romana…”

“That’s the problem when you get a sneak preview of your future.” She’s talking too fast, the words ahead of her thoughts — too impulsive, too open. “It’s not just seeing who I will become some day. It’s seeing how everyone _around_ me reacts to that future.”

“Are you talking about — ”

“In the Matrix, before we returned to this Gallifrey.”

“The other version of you? Romana, you did not even like her.”

“Of course not.” Her fingers drum against her knee. “You never like seeing the inevitability of the end of this version of yourself — _this_ you. And there are possibly few things in the universe more infuriating than being condescended to by a future version of yourself. Even if she _was_ ultimately trying to save the universe from the Daleks, I suppose.”

Romana stops drumming, crosses her arms. A barrier, a shield. She’s looking past Leela. “And it’s easy enough to convince yourself that the future is far off, and she’s not _really_ you, not this you — but when you’re suddenly staring that future in the face? You already know, deep down, how this will play out.”

“You are being unfair.” 

“Am I?” She stares at Leela abruptly. “If I had regenerated, if I had picked you up and gone back to Gallifrey, would you have _ever_ seen me as the same person? Would you have stayed here, in the Citadel?” 

Romana closes her eyes and takes one long, slow breath. “No, that’s the wrong question. Would you have stayed for me?”

“I — ”

“Maybe that _is_ an unfair question, since that timeline never happened. But you wanted me to be honest, Leela, and the truth is — we both know that our friendship has an expiration date. No matter who I became, you would still have looked at me like I had killed your friend.” Romana’s voice catches, rough and hoarse. “Last time I regenerated my mind was protecting me from an ancient horror from the early days of Gallifrey. Perhaps in this world that never existed, it was protecting me from something else.”

Maybe that _is_ the truth, at least a part of it. She would die, in Leela’s eyes, and the last scraps of their friendship would die too, and the world is already too heavy on the best of days, and without Leela — what would be the point in coming back as someone who could feel the pain of that loss? It’s awful and inefficient, and her lives belong to Gallifrey, first and foremost. Maybe she really was meant to be _ice_. Maybe it would have been easier.

Maybe never going back for Leela was the collateral damage. 

Leela stares at her and stares at her.

“You were afraid that I would leave you, so you left me first?”

 _Coward_. Leela doesn’t say it, but the accusation hovers anyways, and the last scraps of fight in Romana crumble away.

She buries her head in her hands. “I never said you were the one in the wrong.”

Leela is silent. 

“I’m sorry.” Romana whispers between her fingers. She hasn’t really said it until now, hasn’t _meant_ it like she does now. “I’m _sorry_. In some ways, I’ve never been that brave, Leela. Not when...not when it’s you.”

The silence drags on, too stiff, and Romana lifts her head. 

Leela swallows, eyes squeezed shut. “I have had to be brave on so many days.” 

Romana’s empty — her insides hollowed out. There’s no more guilt left to feel, only numbness. 

“I know,” she says and doesn’t think — she takes Leela’s hands in hers. 

Leela takes one deep shuddering breath, then another. Romana doesn’t say anything, doesn’t offer up any more explanations or excuses. She just holds Leela’s hands tight in hers, and somehow, something breaks at last.

Tears trickle down Leela’s cheek, and Romana lifts hand, hesitant. Leela catches it, pressing Romana’s palm to her face, to the back of her neck, into her hair, pulling them close.

There shouldn’t be _anything_ comforting about this for Leela — it’s Romana she’s angry with, Romana who betrayed her in another time, Romana who decided to orbit everything around herself with so little regard for Leela’s potential pain — _get her to safety, stop running, burn yourself to save the ship_ — she wasn’t thinking beyond that. 

But she tries — her hands move automatically, stroking Leela’s hair, rubbing circles on her back, a replication of gestures that come so naturally to Leela. 

Romana has missed her so much since Terrafalax, missed _this_ — holding Leela tight to her hearts, pretending she’ll never have to let her go. She has been in love with the woman in her arms for so _long_ , even if she can never admit it to anyone but herself. 

“I’m sorry,” Romana whispers again. “I am, truly, Leela. I don’t _want_ that to be my future, I don’t _want_ to have protected my own feelings at the cost of — ” Her voice catches. 

If that is the truth, if she was too afraid of getting hurt — it was wrong, she was _wrong_. Leela leaving, that’s always been one of her worst fears — it’s a reality she’s had to face too often already, and it killed her a little each time. But she will face that fear if she has to, if it means not leaving Leela lost, adrift. 

“I told you, I don’t know what might have happened, not really. I can’t say what _will_ happen, if I regenerate one day. But Leela, the one thing, the _only_ thing I can promise you is that I will _try_. I will do all I can to hold onto my memories of our friendship.” 

“I —“ Leela sniffles. “I want to believe you.”

But. Romana feels the weight of that _but_ , and she knows: she has never been any good at loving people.


	5. Chapter 5

The dreams don’t get any better. 

This one starts simple — nothing exploding, no stumbling into another universe that crumbles around her. This one starts in the CIA Tower, those new and unfamiliar black-and-white robes shifting around her as she walks down the corridor. There’s a weight in her stomach, a numbness that’s coiled between her hearts, but she doesn’t know what’s causing it until her dream-self walks into the room. Until she sees the body.

Romana wakes, shivering and empty, and lies in bed for a long time, staring at the ceiling and trying to convince herself that these dreams aren’t omens. 

The CIA Tower is mostly empty when she arrives, the dim lights of the corridors flickering to full brightness as she walks. Even after lying awake for so long, it’s still early. 

She keeps walking, trying to etch the shape of these winding corridors into her mind. Memorize the connections between one agents’ office and the next, like she’s worked to memorize the records on each of the agents under her command. For Narvin, recalling this information is as easy as breathing — she has more power in name, but he has more in reality. She isn’t used to that. 

There wasn’t really anywhere else she could go, constitutionally and logistically, after relinquishing the Presidency, but she doesn’t belong here. She doesn’t know how long it will take _to_ belong here. If she ever will.

Romana doesn’t know what exactly she was thinking, when she agreed with Braxiatel’s scheme. Or she does, and she doesn’t want to admit it. She’s done enough _admitting things_ lately, and none of the revelations say anything kind about her. 

She’s distracted this morning, perhaps, because she waits too long before returning to her office. The daytime agents have started to trickle in, and the way they look at her is a strange mixture of deference and distrust. Romana was their President. The stories about her have grown far out of proportion, and there are some Time Lords who carry a reverence to her that is far beyond what she’s earned. But Romana’s presidency is also a mark against her — as are her days in the company of a known renegade. The CIA has been watching her for years, mostly wary. The CIA did try to depose her, once.

Her younger self would be baffled, to see her in these black-and-white robes. To the younger, wayward traveler Romana, CIA Coordinator would sound even more absurd than President. And to young President Romana it would sound even more so — she trusted nothing about the CIA, resented everyone who wore these colors. 

She would never have taken this position if it wasn’t for her friendship with Narvin. The thought pricks, lingers. It doesn’t say anything kind about her either. 

Narvin doesn’t talk to her, if he can help it. Or when he does, it's with a frigid distance she hasn’t felt in years. At least when she was President and he disliked her, he held a certain amount of loyalty to her office. It’s a bit different when she’s sitting in his old chair. His resentment is — is understandable, but it’s too late now to make a different decision.

Romana wasn’t lying when she told Leela she felt _relief_ at setting the Presidency aside. Whatever has been pressing down on her, suffocating, for months, years — there was a pressure valve released, the moment she let running the entire planet be someone else’s problem. She could never abandon Gallifrey; she’s bound herself too tightly to this world. But she never wanted the job back in the first place, and it was a relief to finally act on the desire to leave it behind.

It was all well and good to tell herself that stepping down, becoming Coordinator, was the right thing to do. It would change the timelines, allow for a better future for Gallifrey. But if she hadn’t _wanted_ to do it, she never would have gone along with Braxiatel’s plan. 

Another selfish decision. 

Romana locks herself in her office. It feels like hiding.

She’s overseeing the fallout of Ambassador Kalbez and Castellan Plutus’ plot to set Gallifrey and the Monan Host against each other. With the main players arrested (including Phaidon’s Agent Gaal, who the Monan delegation caught trying to sneak through a teleporter into their embassy and whose interrogation enabled them to stop a potential mass murder on Pandak Square), the CIA’s eyes and ears are watching, searching to see if there are other players trying to slink into the shadows. Including assessing the possibility that the explosion on Terrafalax really did have nothing to do with the Monans after all, but was another part of the long scheme to provoke a war. 

The investigation into the mysterious disappearance of the Moros is a more limited project — there isn’t the active danger of a singularity, so it’s lower priority for now. But they still don’t know why the potential black hole vanished into itself, and as Romana hits dead end after dead end, the visions of her dreams only wrap more tightly around her, cold and insistent.

It would help, if they contained actually useful information, rather than glimpses of disaster. 

Romana doesn’t feel the same suffocation these days, but as she sits in her new office, a new kind of misery has stolen over her. A listlessness. A sensation of drifting. 

What is she _doing_ here? What is she doing _anywhere_?

It unnerves her that Braxiatel is probably the person who can most bear her company these days. She doesn’t particularly want to bear _his_ , not since he refuses to give her any details about where he’s been or what he’s been up to. He is always playing too many games with all of their lives, and she can’t afford to get caught up in that spiral again.

There was a time when he was the person she trusted most on this world. That time has long since passed. 

Leela’s anger, her visceral refusal to join the CIA — they knock through Romana’s mind as she tries to concentrate on her work. She’s been learning a lot of lessons lately, about the dangers of having Leela too close. Surely this is just another lesson — it’s better for them both if Leela is finally free of her professional obligations to Romana. Free to find her own path, either away from or inside politics. Free to pursue the kinds of friendships, _relationships_ , that will actually make her happy, not one Leela’s been stuck with out of the sheer years of personal history between them. 

But the threat of xenophobic politicians still lurks — Leela needs not just a place where she isn’t stifled, but a place with some measure of stability. She hasn’t been dismissed from any of her current positions yet but that certainly doesn’t mean that any of them provide such stability. Faced with Leela’s animosity to joining the CIA, Romana’s rather hit a wall when it comes to protecting her, and waiting and hoping for the best doesn’t seem like the best route forward. 

During a meeting with Narvin about the Terrafalax investigation, Romana brings up Leela’s job prospects almost accidentally, as their discussion draws to a close. She isn’t certain why she decides to mention it — perhaps Narvin might have some insight on the matter? Or perhaps she wants to talk about something — anything — that isn’t strictly business, to see if it will crack through this frigid distance between them.

“I spoke with Leela the other day,” Romana begins and promptly quashes the complicated tangle of emotions that wells up inside her at the memories of that conversation. 

“About?”

Romana hesitates. “Employment.”

The sigh Narvin gives is long and low. “You want to drag her into the CIA, too?”

“I don’t want to _drag_ her anywhere.”

“Really. So what _did_ you offer her?”

Romana purses her lips. “A position in the Agency, if she wanted it.”

“And how did she take it?”

She grits her teeth. “Not especially well.”

“And you were surprised?” Narvin isn’t even looking at her. “She’s made it clear from the moment you took over that she had no interest in joining.”

“She hadn’t — ” Romana swallows. “We hadn’t spoken about it.”

His eyes flick to her briefly, expression unreadable. “I see.”

“So I gather you’ve talked with her. About the CIA.”

“She wasn’t pleased to be put in this corner,” he says, sharp. “She likes working as presidential liaison to the Academy.”

“Livia — ”

“Did you even _ask_ President Livia if she would keep Leela on? Or did you just assume that Leela would follow your particular whims, when you decided to abandon the Presidency?”

“I didn’t _assume_. ”

“Didn’t you.”

“Narvin — ”

“Just how you _didn’t_ assume that I would be perfectly fine with being dismissed from my job?” 

Romana stiffens. “I was wondering how long that would take.”

“Excuse me?”

“The silent treatment isn’t really your style.”

“And talking to your _friends_ isn’t really yours.”

She flinches, and several emotions flicker across Narvin’s face — triumph, guilt, anger. He wants to push at her, that much is obvious. He wants to argue, maybe he _deserves_ to argue, but they aren’t going to get anywhere if she pushes back, escalates this further.

“And it wasn’t a whim,” Romana says.

“Sorry?”

“I didn’t _abandon_ the Presidency, and it wasn’t a whim.”

“Really. Only, I would have no idea because you haven’t _exactly_ bothered to explain yourself.”

“It’s _complicated_.”

“Give it a try.”

“I — there are potential timelines that needed to be avoided. My being President was part of them. I had to step down, but I couldn’t just _disappear_.”

“Timelines that needed to be avoided? If there was something that serious going on, why didn’t I know about it? How do you even _know_ that?”

She doesn’t say anything, but Narvin knows her well. Enough to read the implications in whatever expression is on her face.

“Of course. Braxiatel was involved, wasn’t he.”

“He — ” Romana swallows, relents. “He says my future self, a future self that no longer exists, was the one who sent him back to the Moros.”

Narvin stands, face reddening. “The _paradox_ that would cause — ”

“There doesn’t seem to be any adverse effects,” she interrupts, before he can lecture her for being complicit in violating the Laws of Time. “Whatever happened before, this timeline seems to be asserting itself just fine. And if all this averts the future war with the temporal powers, it will certainly have been worth it.”

“Because you trust that Braxiatel is telling you the truth.”

“There is a….temporal echo. I’ve felt it. Like a memory, but one I never had.” There are a lot of those going around lately, but she doesn’t mention the others. They should stop soon. They have to stop soon. “I believe that I _did_ send him back, some version of me.” 

“And so you took over that CIA, on that nebulous feeling and Braxiatel’s word?” He shakes his head. “I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Of course you would trust him. It’s not like he’s proved himself a liar, perfectly willing to manipulate what he needs to arrange his own desired outcome.”

“He may not be the most _forthcoming_ of Time Lords, but his actions have always been in the interest of protecting Gallifrey.”

“Have they? How can we be sure?”

“Did you forget that this world would have been consumed by the Dogma virus, if we hadn’t escaped to the Axis with the biodata archives?” Her response is instinctive, visceral. The drive to argue, to insist that she’s _right_. But it does prick inside her, defending Brax so easily. Narvin isn’t wrong — Brax hasn’t been forthcoming about much since his return, and she’s barely keeping her own frustration with him under control.

“And that worked out _so_ well for him.” Narvin crosses his arms. “We haven’t seen him in years and you just — ” His eyes widen. “Have you made _him_ any promises?”

“Promises?”

“Access to CIA records, anything like that? Only that _would_ make sense, positioning you here, if he wanted to have a foothold in the CIA.”

“Brax isn’t trying to take over the CIA.” She doesn’t look at Narvin. “Stepping down was his idea, but the next step — that was mine.”

It’s a long moment before Narvin speaks. “The worst part is, I can’t tell if you’re lying to me.”

“I wouldn’t _lie_ to you.”

“Wouldn’t you? Why would you bother trusting me now? Why would you bother giving the _tiniest_ amount of respect? After everything I’ve — ”

“I wasn’t trying to — ” Romana takes a deep breath, stands to match him. “I’m sorry you felt disrespected.”

“That was not an apology.”

“I said — ”

“Because you still don’t think you did anything wrong, do you.” Narvin closes his eyes for a brief moment. “Maybe you did just want to get rid of me.” 

The scattered echoes of last night’s dream twist abruptly in her mind. Narvin dead, throat torn and skin icy, her own hearts shattered. The Time Lord in front of her, who has been by her side through _so much_ , gone. Just gone. 

“Don’t you _dare_ ,” she hisses. “Of _course_ I don’t want to get _rid_ of you, you _know_ that.”

Narvin steps back, eyes shadowed. “A week ago, I knew that President Romana respected my jurisdiction over my own agency, even if we didn’t always agree. A week ago, I knew that my — my _friend_ wouldn’t do something as monumental as taking over the CIA without talking to me first.” 

This time, he sounds far more hurt than angry. That above anything chokes any reply in Romana’s throat. 

Narvin jams his fingers into the door controls. Romana is starting to lose track of the amount of times people have stormed out on her in the past couple of weeks.

(What is she _doing_ here? What is she doing _anywhere_?)

Romana buries her head in her hands as she sinks back into her chair. It had cut into her more than she expected, his anger. 

Perhaps he was right. Perhaps she _was_ just assuming that he and Leela would follow her. 

And all his accusations — they ring far too close to Leela’s, when they argued before the Moros. That she doesn’t _feel_. That she doesn’t _care_. 

Care too much or not enough, that’s the dichotomy she’s stuck in. She breaks things no matter what.

And the dreams resurface, cascading in quick succession. Dreaming of her own death wouldn’t matter — she’s had that dream in enough variations over the years. But the ship burns and Leela burns with her. She lives, the new Coordinator of the CIA, and Narvin dies. She lives, and the transduction barriers buckle. None of it is fair. 

The screens flicker out of the corner of her vision — all the data they have on the disappearance of the Moros circling around and around and around. The place where all these dreams started, all these visions of loss she wants to tear to pieces with her bare hands. 

If she can’t save her friends, her world — if she lives at such a cost, then what is the _point_?

Romana stands, the coldness burning into her lungs turning to fire. Hot, energizing. If she can’t manage to do anything else right, at least she can find the answers to this. The contortions of space-time around the Moros’ last known location are potentially quite dangerous — it’s why she hasn’t sent any agents to scope it out. But Romana was on the ship right before its collapse. Romana is one of the people dreaming of a universe where she stayed and died, another where she never came back for Leela — all of these universes scrambled up in her mind with no explanation. If she goes to their source, perhaps she can unravel the tangle. Lend some clarity, prevent the worst parts of her dreams from occurring in reality.

Romana has a new TARDIS, as Coordinator of the CIA, but the agent positioned outside the Agency’s TARIS bay doesn’t ask her any questions. She leaves a message that will automatically be sent to Narvin shortly after she departs — if she told him beforehand, there’s a chance he would feel obligated to stop her.


	6. Chapter 6

Her TARDIS materializes a healthy distance from the Moros’ last known location. It wouldn’t do to completely crash in without a plan — at least from this vantage point she can ease close. With any luck, she’ll get some kind of useful data that will help explain its disappearance. Something to understand these jumbled visions she can’t fully make sense of. Something to prevent her friends from dying. 

Romana has read over the reports dozens of times, but ships and the black holes they create in their collapse don’t just _vanish_.

The readings are nothing ordinary at first, and she squints carefully at the thrusters, bringing the TARDIS in a circling loop around the collapse point. It takes a few laps, but eventually temporal distortions ripple into existence on her scanner. Black hole or no black hole, _something_ is off about this place. But the distortions are practically meaningless, just general indications that there’s been some kind of disruption to the timeline here. Like scar tissue that’s barely healed and could easily be ripped open again. 

Her head pounds.

Romana yanks the thrusters, swinging the ship faster. There has to be something here that makes sense, something useful, something she can use to prevent a different bloody timeline from asserting itself. Evidence that the ship hadn’t really collapsed, but had somehow teleported at the last moment to another location where the core was fixed. Readings that matched known space-time distortions. _Anything._

The ache in her head swells, throbbing behind her eyes, and Romana stumbles against the console as the ship rocks. The thrusters yank tight, jamming in as fast as they can go, and the rippling on the screen contorts and wobbles.

Her eyes are forced shut, and the instant they close a memory, _not-memory_ , flashes: standing on the Moros with Leela beside her, the core failure message echoing around them. But this time she can see the piece that was missing in the blurry haze of the dreams — a woman in a gray cloak, solemn and hovering. She hears the words they all speak, words about choice and timelines broken and repaired. 

_For the paradox to end, we must both die._

_But this isn’t the end. There’s still a place where we go on. I promise you, this will_ not _be the end._

Romana’s stomach roils, and she clutches at the console. 

More memories, _not-memories_ , roll over her, crisp and clear: a message Narvin left before his death, a warning from Braxiatel about the Watchmaker. An explosion in Pandak Square at Livia’s inauguration. A bomb at Outpost Delta, later news of Ace’s death. Phaidon’s president, assassinated. 

Another timeline, another universe, shuddering through her all at once, the leaking fragments bursting into full color by sheer proximity.

They keep racing, the images and voices and screams, and she’s dimly aware of the collision of her knees against the console floor as the TARDIS races out of control, thrusters sputtering, orbiting around the spot where time broke and scarred over.

The rush stops, suddenly, and all is darkness. Nothingness.

* * *

Romana jolts awake, scrambling upright and flinching at the scalding light — her TARDIS wasn’t that bright, was it?

A hand grips her arm, and she gasps, head pounding, eyes still swimming. And a voice, familiar —

“I told you she would wake up soon,” Leela whispers. 

“I’ve never been more glad to be wrong,” Narvin replies, just as quiet. 

Romana’s still squinting too much to see him; the world is still shuddering into place around her. But she can guess, at least, that she isn’t on her TARDIS anymore. 

“You are back on Gallifrey,” Leela says, as if reading her thoughts. “Romana, you are safe.” 

“I — mm, yes. Not quite so loud, please.” Romana presses her hands to her temples, leaning forward. 

“Your head hurts?”

“Tremendously.” She tries opening her eyes again and discovers that the light in the room is significantly less blinding. Leela surges into view beside her, perched on the edge of a medical bed with sharp concern in her eyes. Narvin sits on a chair behind her, hands folded in his lap.

With the throbbing headache comes the flickers of memory — everything that had poured through her mind as she approached the place of the Moros’ destruction. The Watchmaker. The attack on Pandak Square. Narvin. The flood is abrupt, dizzying, but accompanied by a sweeping _relief_.

The worst of her nightmares would have already happened by now, if they were going to come true. She remembers when Narvin went to search the databanks after the Moros incident, and he was fine. And, since the Monan delegation never left Gallifrey, they were able to thwart the Pandak Square attack before it happened. 

There’s a weight in her stomach — a grief for the losses of that other timeline, the memories of so much death so vivid in her mind. But the price their other selves paid was enough to write a happier ending. It was enough. 

_There’s still a place where we go on. I promise._

Romana lifts her head. “How long was I gone?” 

“Less than a span before we found you.” Narvin’s fists clench in his lap. “It’s a good thing you sent the note — at least we knew where to look when we couldn’t reach you on your TARDIS comms system.”

“Narvin had to land his TARDIS around yours, when you didn’t respond.”

“Not my favorite maneuver. Highly unstable, but you _were_ rather unconscious at the time.”

“And how long have I been out?”

“A few spans.” Narvin’s shoulders are stiff. 

She exhales. “I see.”

Leela and Narvin exchange a look, some kind of understanding passing between them. Leela scoots closer on the bed, wrapping an arm tightly around Romana’s shoulders. Under other circumstances, she might flinch away from Leela’s touch, but she can’t bring herself to protest now, can’t do anything but let herself melt against Leela’s shoulder. 

“ _Why_ did you go there?” Leela asks, and there’s a frustration simmering in her voice, but it’s masked by overflowing concern. 

Romana closes her eyes. “I thought I could learn something about why the Moros vanished.”

“And did you?”

“Yes.” She takes a slow breath. “Those dreams weren’t just dreams after all, Leela. You were right. And now I know exactly what happened on the other timeline.”

“Other timeline?” Narvin says. 

She explains as best she can — the initial collapse of the singularity, the role of the mythical Watchmaker in rewriting the paradoxes of Romana’s making. She glosses over some of the details — how long the Leela of the pocket universe had lived away from Gallifrey, the implications for the timeline where she regenerated. She’s already had that particular conversation with Leela; she doesn't particularly want to revisit it.

“So this _Watchmaker_ ,” Leela says, brow furrowed, “she killed Narvin?” 

“That isn’t going to happen,” Romana says, sharp, a bit protective. To her surprise, Narvin looks only a bit pale at the topic of discussion, and not particularly surprised. But judging from the look that passes between him and Leela, Romana suspects that she was not the only person Leela discussed her dreams with. 

“We don’t need to worry about her anymore,” she continues. “We haven’t noticed any problems with the transduction barriers in this timeline. I think, once we chose our paths, that she was content to let this version of history play itself out.”

“Wouldn’t Braxiatel still be involved, somehow?” Narvin frowns. “If a future you sent him back?”

“Perhaps the timelines will adjust — perhaps they already have adjusted, so he knew to find me on the Moros a different way. Perhaps this version of me will find him in the future and feed him that story. There are any number of ways we could preserve this timeline, but the point is: this _is_ our timeline now.” She breathes out. “And we don’t have to worry about any dreams.”

“I am glad,” Leela murmurs and reaches out a hand to Narvin. He takes it, hesitant, and Leela holds tight, her other arm squeezing Romana’s shoulders. Something thick lodges in Romana’s throat, and she hides her face against Leela’s shoulder.

She isn’t quite sure how long she stays like that, how long they all stay like that — the throbbing headache is making it a bit difficult to concentrate — but eventually Leela withdraws her arm.

“You look like you are barely awake,” she sighs.

“I’m awake,” Romana tries to protest, but she barely manages to prope herself up on one elbow. Her eyes are aching to close again. 

“Not enough.” Leela shakes her head. “We shall talk later.” 

Narvin stands from his chair and makes his exit, but Leela lingers on the corner of the bed as he shuts the door. 

Romana blinks, slow and sleepy. “Is there something else?”

Leela exhales. “I am very angry with you. But that is for another time.” And then, to Romana’s utter confusion, Leela leans over and presses her lips briefly to Romana’s forehead before following Narvin out of the room.

Romana stares at the closed door. But she doesn’t have long to think about what just happened before the pounding in her head forces her eyes closed again and she drifts back into unconsciousness.

* * *

Narvin finds her as she’s gathering her belongings in the infirmary, ready to disappear back into her own rooms for the night. She wishes she could have disappeared earlier — it’s not the best first impression for a new CIA Coordinator, ending up under medical care for the better part of a day after her first venture offworld. But although the Agency doctors are less fussy than the presidential physician, the temporal nature of her exhaustion apparently warranted additional monitoring. And, if she’s perfectly honest, she didn’t have the energy to leave until now anyways. 

He looks a bit surprised to see her up, but switches quickly into a thorough debriefing on the analyses that have been run on her TARDIS after its return from where the Moros vanished, to make sure it didn’t carry any disruptive temporal energies back home. The conversation strays to other topics: progress on the Terrafalax investigation, the movement of large quantities of ipolyte rods in the Rings of Syrici that Narvin believes warrants keeping a close eye on, several other minor aspects of CIA business. 

But eventually, the business chatter slows, and the way Narvin looks at her — jaw stiff, eyes sharp — there’s clearly something on his mind. 

“What is it, Narvin?” Romana sighs, crossing her arms. “You’re itching to say something, I can tell.”

He takes a long breath. “Leela would probably like to have the first go at shouting at you, but she’s leading her self-defense class now, and frankly I’m not certain my patience will last that long.”

“ _Shout_ at me?”

“You left Gallifrey without telling anyone and nearly got yourself killed. I think that warrants a bit of shouting, don’t you?”

“You’re being overdramatic, Narvin. I sent you a message, I didn’t run off. And I wasn’t nearly _killed_.”

“No?” He steps forward. “And how do we know that? Whatif we hadn’t been able to get to you? I don’t know what would have happened if you were exposed to those time distortions for much longer — _you_ certainly don’t know what would have happened.”

“But I _wasn’t_. I’m fine, Narvin — my headache feels much better already, and I’m sure I’ll be back to normal by tomorrow.”

Narvin crosses his arms, and the look he gives her is so pointed that Romana resists the urge to look away. 

“This is not how you fix things,” he says quietly.

“I’m sorry?”

“You don’t get to make amends by _disappearing_. You certainly don’t get to by not telling anyone, by not telling _me_ , what you’re planning. _Again_.”

Romana’s hands curl into the sheets. “We needed more information about the Moros. How is that not _helpful_?”

“That isn’t the _point_.” Narvin sits down in the chair across from her bed, but nothing falters in his gaze. “You don’t just get to run away when people are angry with you.”

“How many _times_ — I wasn’t _running away_!”

“Then what would you call it? Or what would you call running off to the Moros after your fight with Leela?” He sighs, long and low. “You always think you can _fix things_ by throwing yourself into danger, but how does that prove anything except that you don’t trust us after all?”

His words punch through her, stealing her breath. Romana opens her mouth to explain, but once again, there isn’t a particular good explanation she can give. 

She tries, anyways, because the stubborn part of her insists she needs to argue back. “It _isn’t_ that I don’t trust you. But the Moros, today — I didn’t want anyone else to get hurt.”

“But it doesn’t matter if you get hurt?”

Romana doesn’t say anything. 

Narvin drops his head in his hands, his voice hoarse. “Tell me you weren’t actually trying to get yourself killed.”

“I _wasn’t_.” She takes a deep breath. “But my regeneration would have been a small price to pay for saving the Moros, if there hadn’t ended up being another solution.”

He lifts his head. “Your regeneration wasn’t the only price.” 

She tries not to flinch. “No.”

“You were rather vague on what happened to Leela in that timeline.”

“I’ve already talked about it with her. That bit, at least, I’ve been dreaming about for days.” Romana closes her eyes. “But it didn’t happen. I won’t let it happen, even if — ” 

“If?”

“It isn’t important.”

“You have a funny way of deciding what’s _important_ for other people to know.”

Romana stares at her hands. “I thought I was prepared. To regenerate. I knew what the consequences would be. I knew that I would — that I would lose her. I didn’t realize that I was selfish enough to — ” She wraps her arms around herself. “It doesn’t matter.”

Narvin is quiet for a long time, and when she finally glances up at him, he looks like he’s struggling with his next words. 

“Were you _really_ afraid you’d lose her?”

“I — ”

“Or,” Narvin finishes, “were you afraid you’d already lost her?”

Romana stares at him, alarmed, as it slowly sinks in that yes, he _does_ mean what she thinks he does. It dawns on her even more slowly that she never really thought about what Narvin might have been thinking this whole time, knowing that Romana caught a glimpse of his rather cozy moment with Leela in the infirmary. She was only ever concerned about whether or not he told _Leela_ that she was there, and only because she _really_ has no interest in hearing Leela talk about her relationship with Narvin. Romana might _know_ that there’s some kind of attraction there, some kind of relationship there, but she would have been perfectly happy to go on ignoring it. 

She assumed Narvin would rather keep his personal business private. But his question is so evidently a loaded one, the discomfort on his face so plain to see — it would be hard for her to imagine he’s asking about anything else.

At least this particular question is easy enough to deflect.

“I don’t believe you can _lose_ what you’ve never had.” Her hands twist; she doesn’t meet his eyes. Romana doesn’t actually know if Narvin’s aware of her feelings for Leela, or if he’s referring just to the closeness of their friendship, but either way, her answer is true. There is nothing about her relationship with Leela that is promised to last. 

And yet, she wasn’t entirely truthful, either. Of course she’s afraid of losing, Leela — and that fear didn’t start when she first came up with the idea of using regeneration to save the Moros. It had already been festering inside her head, ever since — ever since she saw Leela kiss Narvin’s cheek in the alcove, saw how they stood together, how they looked at each other when they thought no one was there. 

And yes, _alright_ , she was jealous. Of _course_ , she was jealous. Not that she would ever admit that to anyone, least of all to Narvin. 

“You know,” Narvin says, “it is a bit of a relief.”

“What is?”

“Knowing that there’s someone who’s worse at this than I am.”

She startles. “ _Excuse_ me?”

Narvin’s shaking his head, and she has absolutely no idea how to decipher the expression on his face. “You _really_ have no idea.”

“And you’re really being rather cryptic, Narvin.”

“Because this isn’t a conversation you should be having with me. It really — ” He swallows. “It really isn’t any of my business. You and Leela.”

Romana stares. “There isn’t a _me and Leela_. I assumed that was rather obvious, given — ” She makes the vaguest of hand gestures. She’s definitely blushing. She definitely wants this conversation to _end, now_. 

Narvin actually snorts at that. At least he’s definitely blushing, too. “I’m beginning to see that you’re not the _greatest_ judge of what’s _obvious_.”

Romana opens her mouth — she has no idea _what_ she wants to say, only that it sounds like she should probably be offended right now — but Narvin interjects before she can speak.

“The point is. The _point_ is that I care,” he says. “If something happens to you. And so does Leela. And trusting me, trusting _Leela_ , means _not_ running off on your own without telling us. If you can promise nothing else then — can you at _least_ promise to _tell_ us when you’re planning something like this? Or anything in general that may, say, substantially affect my life?”

Narvin has been so loyal to her for so long, despite everything. She has never deserved that loyalty, perhaps, but that doesn’t mean she shouldn’t make more of an effort to earn it. 

Romana looks him in the eye. “I should have talked to you, before I resigned the Presidency. I _am_ sorry, Narvin, even if I — even if I’m not particularly good at saying it. And I will — I will _try_. I’m not sure I can promise more than that, and have it still be the truth.”

Narvin doesn’t react for a long moment before eventually nodding, slowly. “I suppose I can live with that.” 

He stands, turns to leave. 

“And Narvin,” she calls. “About Braxiatel.”

“What about him?”

“There _was_ a time when I trusted him, more than any other Time Lord. He was my right hand for quite a while. But that was a long time ago, and I didn’t _want_ — I _don’t_ want to slip into old habits.” She bites her lip. “When I said I trusted you, I meant it. You do your job well. You’re rather good at getting things done efficiently, without worrying about the credit. I had to go _somewhere_ , and you’re always complaining about how the Coordinator position is too _political_ , and — ” She takes a deep breath. “ _You_ are the Time Lord that I trust most. _You_ are my right hand, not Braxiatel. That’s been true for a _long_ time now, and that isn’t going to change.” 

Narvin looks a bit taken aback. He doesn’t say much in response to all of that, but he doesn’t need to. It’s answer enough to see a bit of a smile in his eyes for the first time in a while.

It probably won’t be easy, sorting out this whole _CIA leadership_ business. But for the first time since she stepped down from the President, Romana believes — actually believes, not just hopes — that it _will_ work.


	7. Chapter 7

When Romana walks into the Coordinator’s quarters that evening, she half-expects to find Leela already sprawled on her furniture, but of course she isn’t. 

Romana is tempted to relocate to her office for the night. It feels less personal than these rooms, and it would remind her less of the last conversation she had with Leela here. But Romana isn’t certain how soundproof those CIA offices really are, and if Leela does in fact have specific plans to shout at her, she’d rather the other agents didn’t hear. 

The vague memory of their last encounter lingers. _I am very angry with you_ , Leela had said, but she had also kissed Romana’s forehead. Although, given how exhausted Romana was and the amount of temporal distortions she had ricocheted through that afternoon, it’s possible that that last piece was imagined.

Narvin’s rather cryptic words linger, too. _You really have no idea._ She tries not to imagine what he might be implying — what would the point of that be? 

Romana puts on fresh, unwrinkled CIA robes and pulls up the screens in her home office. Technically, it’s _possible_ that Leela won’t find her tonight at all, and Romana can just review her files in peace, without having to sort through any more emotionally charged conversations tonight. 

That possibility abruptly vanishes half a span or so into her reading, when a loud knock sounds on the door.

Ignoring Leela won’t do any good either, she supposes. 

When Romana opens the door, Leela’s arms are already crossed.

“How are you feeling?” she says.

“Better.”

“Good. Then we can talk.” Leela marches into her room without a backwards glance, giving Romana no choice but to close the door and follow her in the sitting room.

Romana sits in one of the chairs, and Leela hesitates only briefly before settling into a chair opposite her. It’s easier than sitting next to her on the sofa. This configuration creates at least some sort of a barrier.

“If you’re going to reprimand me for leaving Gallifrey today, I’m afraid Narvin already beat you to it.”

“He told me.” To Romana’s surprise, Leela doesn’t sound displeased. “But he needed to say it even more than I did. And apparently, there were things you needed to say to him, too.” 

“Yes. I suppose there were.” 

There’s a strange expression on Leela’s face, like she’s wrestling with a particularly complicated problem. Eventually, she says, “Do you _really_ believe it doesn’t matter if you get hurt?”

Romana hesitates. “I only meant that — I calculate the odds. Determine what risks are worth taking, what costs are worth absorbing for. And sometimes getting hurt means saving lives, Leela. I’m glad I _didn’t_ have to regenerate on the Moros, but if I had, it would have been an acceptable cost.”

Leela stands, and without warning, she’s crossed the room and hauled Romana to her feet. She wraps her arms around Romana’s waist and squeezes tight before Romana has a chance to find her footing. 

“Do not,” she says, a whisper against Romana’s ear. “Do _not ever_ tell me that your life is an acceptable cost.”

Romana’s hands land hesitantly on her back. “This job — _either_ job — always had the potential to go badly. I appreciate that you care whether I live or die, _really_ I do, but if I didn’t make it back — ” Her voice sounds too tremulous. “You don’t _need_ me, Leela, not really.” 

“And what does _that_ have to do with anything?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Of course I do not _need_ you. But I am not here because I _need_ to be. I am here because I _want_ to be, because I am _happy_ when I am by your side. Because I _choose_ to be by your side.” Leela shakes her head. “After all these years, did you truly not know that?”

“Well, I _suppose_ , but — ”

Leela takes a step back. “You _suppose_? Do you not choose to spend time with _me_ because you want to?”

“Yes, but — ”

“Are you not happy around me?”

“Leela, of course I’m _happy_. But — ”

“There is no _but_.”

“There is for me. I didn’t sign up for _happiness_ when I became President of Gallifrey. I might not have known _exactly_ what I was getting into, but _happiness_ has never been part of the equation.”

Leela shakes her head. “You are being _ridiculous_.”

“I’m the Pres — I’m the Coordinator, Leela. I can’t let myself focus on what does or doesn’t make me _happy_ , when there is so much more, so many bigger things, at stake.”

“There is nothing _small_ about happiness.”

“I didn’t mean it like _that_ — ”

“But it is important that you understand,” Leela interrupts, wrapping both her hands around one of Romana’s. “Because I remember what it felt like, to not believe the world could hold any happiness again. All those years ago, when Andred disappeared, and when I learned of his betrayal — the world was so dark. But when I did not believe I could find any happiness on Gallifrey, you did not let me run away. You showed me that I was not alone, that I was not unwanted here. You did not let me convince myself that the world was only darkness and pain.” She squeezes Romana’s hand. “I will not let you do the same.”

“Leela, you don’t have to worry about me.”

An exasperated look spreads on Leela’s face. “This is exactly what I mean! You are trying to change the subject, trying to hide.” She steps closer, so they are nearly face-to-face. “I do not have many people who care about me on this world. When you push me away, there is a part of me tries to tell the rest of me that it is because you do not care. But….” She sighs, long and low. “I understand, I think. When you hide away inside yourself, it is not because you do not want anyone else around. You do not feel you are _allowed_ to want.”

“ _Not allowed_ to want? Leela, I have spent too many years being called too ambitious, too _demanding_ , for you tell me I don’t know how to _want_.” Romana’s voice is too shaky; there is no bite in it. “I wanted the Presidency. I wanted to stop my enemies at any cost. I want to make Gallifrey into a better world, to change things, to — I am very good at wanting things, Leela, and every time I do, it always ends badly.”

Leela shakes her head. “ _Exactly._ You are afraid of wanting. You are afraid it will hurt the people around you, but it will _not_. It is not the wanting that is the problem. It is that you _want_ all on your own. If you _want_ to achieve something, you insist on achieving it by yourself. And — ” She lifts a hand, cups Romana’s jaw. “If you want _someone_ , you do all your wanting inside your head, and never speak of it.”

Romana’s breath stutters. “Leela. What are you — ”

“I was afraid,” Leela says, quiet. “You hide away inside yourself so easily — I did not know how you felt. I was afraid, if you knew and did not feel the same, then you would not want to see me.”

“I’ll always want to _see_ you. But Leela, I don’t — I thought — ” Romana swallows, tries to regain control of her breath. “What about you and Narvin?”

Leela gives Romana an eloquent look that means she is being _incredibly_ silly, for someone so intelligent. “I told you, I once spent too long believing that happiness was no longer possible for me. Now that I know it that is not true, I have no intention of turning any happiness away. What I feel for Narvin does not change what I feel for you.”

The world is rapidly reconfiguring itself below Romana’s feet. “For _me_?”

Leela smiles, soft. “Of _course_ , for you. I want to be here, with you, in whatever way you will have me. I do not wish to make you uncomfortable, or to overstep the limits of our friendship, if your want is not the same as mine. But — ” She closes her eyes, her voice serious again. “However you wish me to be by your side — I told you, I want to believe you would never leave me behind. I want to know that _you_ want me here.”

Leela’s words settle on Romana’s chest, falling like raindrops. Something warm is trying to fight itself free inside of her, something deep and aching and terrifying.

Romana sinks back down into the chair, letting Leela naturally step back. A silence washes over the room, and Leela’s words are echoing inside of her — _I want to be here, with you. I want to know that you_ want _me here_.

For years, the woman in front of her, the woman too many Time Lords call dangerous and wild, this woman has been the steadiest world that Romana knows. This brave, kind woman, who for some unfathomable reason _wants_ to be with her.

“I can leave, if you need time to think. To decide.” Leela lifts her chin, but her voice is soft. “I do not want you to make me promises you do not mean."

Believing Leela is a terrifying prospect. Letting her go would break her hearts. 

Sitting in this room that’s only starting to feel like hers, it’s Narvin’s words that echo back to her. _Trusting me, trusting_ Leela, _means not running off on your own._

Leela had used different words: Hiding. Pushing people away. She isn’t wrong. Those have always been some of Romana’s particular skills, built of too many people betraying her first, leaving her first. 

_Trust._ The word lingers. 

Romana stands. She hovers in front of Leela, hesitant, and Leela makes no move to step closer.

She has spent the entire day insisting that she isn’t running away from anything. Perhaps now is the time to prove it.

This time, Romana is the one to step forward and pull Leela close.

The embrace isn’t gentle. Leela’s hands dig into the fabric of her robe, clutching tight. Her arms squeeze around Romana’s ribs. Romana’s nose is squashed against Leela’s neck, her hands tangling in Leela’s hair. They stumble backwards, and it’s probably only Leela’s reflexes that prevent them from tripping and ending up flat on the floor. 

“Stay,” Romana whispers into Leela’s shoulder. Leela makes a noise that’s halfway between laugh and sob and holds her, somehow, even tighter.

They remain like that for a long time, pressed and tangled together, breathing in tandem. Leela is the first to lean back, and she doesn’t so much pull away as nuzzle her nose against Romana’s neck, sending a cascade of shivers down her spine. 

“Yes,” Leela murmurs. “Of course.”

Romana’s heartsbeat is loud in her ears, her chest squeezing and expanding with a dozen emotions she doesn’t care to pick out right now. It’s only when Leela’s fingers brush her cheek that Romana realizes tears have leaked from her eyes. It’s only when she leans back, face reddening, that she realizes Leela’s face is wet, too.

Romana seems to have lost all capacity for rational thought since she hugged Leela close, or maybe she’s just ignoring it. Whatever the reason, she leans forward, her breath ragged in her throat, and presses her lips to the tear stains on Leela’s cheeks.

She lingers, long enough to _feel_ Leela’s inhale. When she pulls back, Leela’s eyes are shining.

* * *

When Romana wakes, she’s briefly disoriented. The new rooms and the familiar figure sleeping beside her collide until the memories of the previous night return. Stumbling to the sofa, where they sat, cuddled together, for a long time. Leela’s eventual snores, and Romana’s laughter as she shook her awake long enough to drag them both to the bedroom, where they collapsed side-by-side without even changing clothes — Leela tired from the late hour, both of them exhausted from the events of the day.

Swept up in the racing emotions of last night, it felt natural to fall asleep with her arm wrapped around Leela’s waist, holding her not quite as tightly as she had in the sitting room, but just as deliberately. But in the morning, under the dim light of the first sunrise, the shape of Leela’s body curved against hers, their hands still tangled together, it’s all a bit terrifying once more. 

Can it really be that easy to believe that Leela will stay as long as she asks?

Would it be worth it anyways, even if she doesn’t?

She’s tired. She’s _been_ tired — tired of the weight of the presidency, tired of the balancing act she’s been playing with her friendship with Leela, tired of pretending that burying her own feelings doesn’t hurt.

Romana lies awake for a while, turning the questions, the uncertain answers, over in her mind before Leela stirs in her arms. When she blinks open her eyes, yawning, it isn’t long before a smile spreads wide across her face. 

“Good morning.” Leela tucks a strand of loose hair behind Romana’s ear. “How did you sleep?”

“Good,” she admits, unable to hide a smile. 

“Good,” Leela echoes and rolls over properly to face Romana. Their faces are very close, foreheads nearly touching. Romana can count every freckle on her nose, track the way they crinkle when Leela smiles.

Another thread of nerves coils up inside of her. There is a lot more, in the slow dawning light, that feels like it needs to be discussed.

Leela seems to be thinking much the same, because she brushes her knuckles against the arch of Romana’s back and says, “Speaking of sleep. I do not wish to make promises I cannot keep either, and so I will tell you now — I cannot stay with you every night.”

“I never expected — ”

“I know.” She touches her forehead to Romana’s. “But I wanted to be sure you knew. And that you know it is not _only_ because I have already been staying with Narvin some nights, too. There are also times when I would like….” She frowns, as if trying to parse the words. “I would like the quiet of knowing that when I am falling asleep, there is no one else awake around me. It is not often that I need that, but sometimes I do.”

“I understand.” 

Leela cups her chin. “You are important to me, but I cannot promise you all my time or my attention. But neither can you promise me yours, so that is alright.”

“Yes,” Romana exhales. “That’s the other thing. Leela, I know there have been rumors every now and then about us, but I don’t think we should….” She hesitates. “....encourage them. Especially if you remain on the presidential staff — and I _will_ be having a word with Livia about that, you’re perfectly qualified to continue your liaison work at the Academy, there’s no reason why that needs to change. Livia knows that we are friends, certainly, but I am not sure she really understands how much I — how much I trust you. I don’t want _my_ political fights to become yours, any more than they already have, just because of our relationship.”

Leela raises her eyebrows. “So you have given up on my joining the CIA then?”

“I shouldn’t have assumed.” Romana admits. “You want to keep working with the students, and you’re certainly the most familiar with them. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t stay where you are, if the current administration is willing to keep you. And if there’s ever a problem, well.” She smiles. “You know you always have a place wherever I am.”

Leela grins, and then Romana startles as Leela practically rolls on top of her, her arms looping around Romana’s neck. But when Leela stills, her expression is surprisingly serious.

“I am glad that you asked me to stay,” she whispers.

“As am I.”

Leela is so very close and so very soft and so very _safe_. And it’s so very _easy_ to melt into her — arms sliding around waists, noses brushing. They hover in this moment for a long while, hands tangled in hair, lips not quite touching. Breathing together.

And then Leela’s kissing her, her mouth warm and gentle and sure, and Romana wonders how she could have possibly waited to do this for so long. 

They stay like that for a long time, sharing breaths, trading leisurely kisses under the morning suns until Romana loses track of time and space and anything except the woman in her arms. 

When Leela finally pulls away, her eyes are impossibly soft. “There _is_ one promise I _can_ give,” she murmurs, and Romana’s breath catches with a terrifying suspicion of what Leela is about to say.

Romana grips her wrist. “Leela, wait.”

Something flickers, hurt, in Leela’s eyes.

Leela has always waited for Romana to muster the courage to name her feelings for what they are — that has been true from the early days of their friendship, when even that much was difficult to admit. But after all these years of waiting — Leela shouldn’t always have to be the first one to say it.

 _I have never been that brave_ , Romana told Leela the other day. _Not when it’s you._ But she has also never shied away from proving people wrong, even if, in this case, the person in question is herself. 

“I love you,” Romana whispers, and from the way her voice shakes, you’d never guess that she has stared down monsters in all corners of the known universe.

Leela stares and stares, and then she presses a hand to her mouth, eyes shimmering.

“You don’t have to — ” Romana stammers, and then Leela is kissing her, clumsy and eager, and whispering the words in every breath.

Eventually, the words fade away. Eventually, the kisses do, too, until they’re simply holding each other as the second sun rises.

Romana thinks of a young president haunted by too many shadows, convinced that she’d lost her last chance at friendship a long time ago. Convinced that she would always be alone in the dark. 

She tucks her head on Leela’s shoulder, closes her eyes, and answers her question: Yes, it will be worth it.

It already is.


End file.
